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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409074" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Katie</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">It may be through some foreign grace,<br>And unfamiliar charm of face;<br>It may be that across the foam<br>Which bore her from her childhood's home,<br>By some strange spell, my Katie brought,<br>Along with English creeds and thought --<br>Entangled in her golden hair --<br>Some English sunshine, warmth, and air!<br>I cannot tell -- but here to-day,<br>A thousand billowy leagues away<br>From that green isle whose twilight skies<br>No darker are than Katie's eyes,<br>She seems to me, go where she will,<br>An English girl in England still!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I meet her on the dusty street,<br>And daisies spring about her feet;<br>Or, touched to life beneath her tread,<br>An English cowslip lifts its head;<br>And, as to do her grace, rise up<br>The primrose and the buttercup!<br>I roam with her through fields of cane,<br>And seem to stroll an English lane,<br>Which, white with blossoms of the May,<br>Spreads its green carpet in her way!<br>As fancy wills, the path beneath<br>Is golden gorse, or purple heath:<br>And now we hear in woodlands dim<br>Their unarticulated hymn,<br>Now walk through rippling waves of wheat,<br>Now sink in mats of clover sweet,<br>Or see before us from the lawn<br>The lark go up to greet the dawn!<br>All birds that love the English sky<br>Throng round my path when she is by:<br>The blackbird from a neighboring thorn<br>With music brims the cup of morn,<br>And in a thick, melodious rain<br>The mavis pours her mellow strain!<br>But only when my Katie's voice<br>Makes all the listening woods rejoice<br>I hear -- with cheeks that flush and pale --<br>The passion of the nightingale!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Anon the pictures round her change,<br>And through an ancient town we range,<br>Whereto the shadowy memory clings<br>Of one of England's Saxon kings,<br>And which to shrine his fading fame<br>Still keeps his ashes and his name.<br>Quaint houses rise on either hand,<br>But still the airs are fresh and bland,<br>As if their gentle wings caressed<br>Some new-born village of the West.<br>A moment by the Norman tower<br>We pause; it is the Sabbath hour!<br>And o'er the city sinks and swells<br>The chime of old St. Mary's bells,<br>Which still resound in Katie's ears<br>As sweet as when in distant years<br>She heard them peal with jocund din<br>A merry English Christmas in!<br>We pass the abbey's ruined arch,<br>And statelier grows my Katie's march,<br>As round her, wearied with the taint<br>Of Transatlantic pine and paint,<br>She sees a thousand tokens cast<br>Of England's venerable Past!<br>Our reverent footsteps lastly claims<br>The younger chapel of St. James,<br>Which, though, as English records run,<br>Not old, had seen full many a sun,<br>Ere to the cold December gale<br>The thoughtful Pilgrim spread his sail.<br>There Katie in her childish days<br>Spelt out her prayers and lisped her praise,<br>And doubtless, as her beauty grew,<br>Did much as other maidens do --<br>Across the pews and down the aisle<br>Sent many a beau-bewildering smile,<br>And to subserve her spirit's need<br>Learned other things beside the creed!<br>There, too, to-day her knee she bows,<br>And by her one whose darker brows<br>Betray the Southern heart that burns<br>Beside her, and which only turns<br>Its thoughts to Heaven in one request,<br>Not all unworthy to be blest,<br>But rising from an earthlier pain<br>Than might beseem a Christian fane.<br>Ah! can the guileless maiden share<br>The wish that lifts that passionate prayer?<br>Is all at peace that breast within?<br>Good angels! warn her of the sin!<br>Alas! what boots it? who can save<br>A willing victim of the wave?<br>Who cleanse a soul that loves its guilt?<br>Or gather wine when wine is spilt?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We quit the holy house and gain<br>The open air; then, happy twain,<br>Adown familiar streets we go,<br>And now and then she turns to show,<br>With fears that all is changing fast,<br>Some spot that's sacred to her Past.<br>Here by this way, through shadows cool,<br>A little maid, she tripped to school;<br>And there each morning used to stop<br>Before a wonder of a shop<br>Where, built of apples and of pears,<br>Rose pyramids of golden spheres;<br>While, dangling in her dazzled sight,<br>Ripe cherries cast a crimson light,<br>And made her think of elfin lamps,<br>And feast and sport in fairy camps,<br>Whereat, upon her royal throne<br>(Most richly carved in cherry-stone),<br>Titania ruled, in queenly state,<br>The boisterous revels of the f|^ete!<br>'T was yonder, with their &quot;horrid&quot; noise,<br>Dismissed from books, she met the boys,<br>Who, with a barbarous scorn of girls,<br>Glanced slightly at her sunny curls,<br>And laughed and leaped as reckless by<br>As though no pretty face were nigh!<br>But -- here the maiden grows demure --<br>Indeed she's not so VERY sure,<br>That in a year, or haply twain,<br>Who looked e'er failed to look again,<br>And sooth to say, I little doubt<br>(Some azure day, the truth will out!)<br>That certain baits in certain eyes<br>Caught many an unsuspecting prize;<br>And somewhere underneath these eaves<br>A budding flirt put forth its leaves!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Has not the sky a deeper blue,<br>Have not the trees a greener hue,<br>And bend they not with lordlier grace<br>And nobler shapes above the place<br>Where on one cloudless winter morn<br>My Katie to this life was born?<br>Ah, folly! long hath fled the hour<br>When love to sight gave keener power,<br>And lovers looked for special boons<br>In brighter flowers and larger moons.<br>But wave the foliage as it may,<br>And let the sky be ashen gray,<br>Thus much at least a manly youth<br>May hold -- and yet not blush -- as truth:<br>If near that blessed spot of earth<br>Which saw the cherished maiden's birth<br>No softer dews than usual rise,<br>And life there keeps its wonted guise,<br>Yet not the less that spot may seem<br>As lovely as a poet's dream;<br>And should a fervid faith incline<br>To make thereof a sainted shrine,<br>Who may deny that round us throng<br>A hundred earthly creeds as wrong,<br>But meaner far, which yet unblamed<br>Stalk by us and are not ashamed?<br>So, therefore, Katie, as our stroll<br>Ends at this portal, while you roll<br>Those lustrous eyes to catch each ray<br>That may recall some vanished day,<br>I -- let them jeer and laugh who will --<br>Stoop down and kiss the sacred sill!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So strongly sometimes on the sense<br>These fancies hold their influence,<br>That in long well-known streets I stray<br>Like one who fears to lose his way.<br>The stranger, I, the native, she,<br>Myself, not Kate, had crossed the sea;<br>And changing place, and mixing times,<br>I walk in unfamiliar climes!<br>These houses, free to every breeze<br>That blows from warm Floridian seas,<br>Assume a massive English air,<br>And close around an English square;<br>While, if I issue from the town,<br>An English hill looks greenly down,<br>Or round me rolls an English park,<br>And in the Broad I hear the Larke!<br>Thus when, where woodland violets hide,<br>I rove with Katie at my side,<br>It scarce would seem amiss to say:<br>&quot;Katie! my home lies far away,<br>Beyond the pathless waste of brine,<br>In a young land of palm and pine!<br>There, by the tropic heats, the soul<br>Is touched as if with living coal,<br>And glows with such a fire as none<br>Can feel beneath a Northern sun,<br>Unless -- my Katie's heart attest! --<br>'T is kindled in an English breast!<br>Such is the land in which I live,<br>And, Katie! such the soul I give.<br>Come! ere another morning beam,<br>We'll cleave the sea with wings of steam;<br>And soon, despite of storm or calm,<br>Beneath my native groves of palm,<br>Kind friends shall greet, with joy and pride,<br>The Southron and his English bride!&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Timrod">Henry Timrod</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409074" data-title="Katie de Henry Timrod" data-description="It may be through some foreign grace,
And unfamiliar charm of face;
It may be that across the foam
Which bore her from her childhood's home,
By some strange spell, my Katie brought,
Along with English creeds and thought --
Entangled in her golden ..."></div>
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