CHORUS OF GRECIAN GIRLS (VASE E. 783 BM.)

The Database of Ornament

                        We maidens are older than most sheep,
                        Though not so old as the rose-bush is;
                        We are only as pretty as that.
                        We are gay as the weather. Our minds are deep
                        Like wells, as any boy tells
                        By the blushes, he dares not kiss.
                        The hills are fond of our chat.
                        We dance and shake like ringing bells,
                        Till our hair tumbles out of our hoods.
                        Our feet are bare, our feet are bare ;
                        But we don’t care, we don’t care,
                        For the boys are away in the woods,
                        Hunting the boar or bear.
                        We pretend to fly
                        Up into the sky,
                        Jumping with both feet together,
                        Holding out like wings
                        Our sleeves and things.
                        Feeling as light as a feather,
                        We don’t wonder whether
                        The day is long
                        Or the night short,
                        Since all our thought,
                        Is but big as the song
                        Of a brown fussy bee,
                        And just fills the flower which we
                        Each call me.

                                                                                                 T. STURGE MOORE.

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