From the Rock Island Argus, May 22, 1914. By Henry Howland.
She was so gentle and so fair
That I was gladdened when we met;
She had a modest, pensive air.
In fancy I behold her yet;
She moved with such unstudied grace
That she appeared to float along;
The beauty of her youthful face
Was such as urges bards to song.
Again I saw her; years had passed;
Alas, she had been wooed and won;
A listless look at me she cast,
Then went on mending for her son;
She wore a wrapper that was red,
A knot of hair, uncrimped and small;
Her beauty and her grace had fled—
She didn’t seem to care at all.
And then he came who once, mayhap,
Had deemed her earth’s most lovely thing—
Had gladly held her on his lap—
And decked her finger with his ring;
He passed her with a grunt, no more,
And then forgetting she was there,
Got down at full length on the floor
And gamboled with their son and heir.
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