O The Little Lady's dainty <br />As the picture in a book, <br />And her hands are creamy-whiter <br />Than the water-lilies look; <br />Her laugh's the undrown'd music <br />Of the maddest meadow-brook.-- <br />Yet all in vain I praise The Little Lady! <br /> <br />Her eyes are blue and dewy <br />As the glimmering Summer-dawn,-- <br />Her face is like the eglantine <br />Before the dew is gone; <br />And were that honied mouth of hers <br />A bee's to feast upon, <br />He'd be a bee bewildered, Little Lady! <br /> <br />Her brow makes light look sallow; <br />And the sunshine, I declare, <br />Is but a yellow jealousy <br />Awakened by her hair-- <br />For O the dazzling glint of it <br />Nor sight nor soul can bear,-- <br />So Love goes groping for The Little Lady. <br /> <br />And yet she's neither Nymph nor Fay, <br />Nor yet of Angelkind:-- <br />She's but a racing school-girl, with <br />Her hair blown out behind <br />And tremblingly unbraided by <br />The fingers of the Wind, <br />As it wildly swoops upon The Little Lady.<br /><br />James Whitcomb Riley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-little-lady/
