![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
She bore it till the simple veins
Traced azure on her hand —
Till pleading, round her quiet eyes
The purple Crayons stand.
Till Daffodils had come and gone
I cannot tell the sum,
And then she ceased to bear it —
And with the Saints sat down.
No more her patient figure
At twilight soft to meet —
No more her timid bonnet
Upon the village street —
But Crowns instead, and Courtiers —
And in the midst so fair,
Whose but her shy — immortal face
Of whom we're whispering here?
Traced azure on her hand —
Till pleading, round her quiet eyes
The purple Crayons stand.
Till Daffodils had come and gone
I cannot tell the sum,
And then she ceased to bear it —
And with the Saints sat down.
No more her patient figure
At twilight soft to meet —
No more her timid bonnet
Upon the village street —
But Crowns instead, and Courtiers —
And in the midst so fair,
Whose but her shy — immortal face
Of whom we're whispering here?