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 P 3 345 5 
 
 A;J4fi5 
 
 c . 2 
 
 THE 
 
 GIRL IN THE 
 
 POSTER 
 
 , by 
 
 Bliss Carman 
 
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 LOB.NE 
 PIERCE 
 
 
 
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The 
 
 GIRL IN THE 
 POSTER 
 
 For 
 
 A DESIGN 
 
 by 
 
 Miss Ethel Reed 
 
/-r' FSg-^b'^- Y^sq Q^ pn 
 
THE GIRL IN THE POSTER. 
 
 With her head in the golden lilies. 
 She reads and is never done ; 
 Why her girlish face so still is, 
 I know not under the sun. 
 
 She is the soul of a woman. 
 Knowing whatever befalls ; 
 And I, a lonely human, 
 Dwelling within her walls. 
 
 1Q^ 
 
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She is the fair immortal 
 Daughter of truth and art. 
 And I, at her lowly portal. 
 May fare and be glad and depart. 
 
 In a region forever vernal 
 She keeps her lilied state, — 
 By beautiful calm eternal 
 Mysteriarch of fate. 
 
 In a volume great and golden 
 Would better beseem a sage. 
 Her dovvrncast look is holden ; 
 But I cannot see the page. 
 
 Picture, or printed volume, 
 Or records, or cipherings. 
 From the drooping lids so solemn, 
 I guess at marvelous things. 
 
 
Is it a rune she ponders, — 
 Word from an outer clime. 
 Where the :i.**it quests and wanders 
 Through long sidcrial pine? 
 
 Would she trammel her thought or cumber 
 Her heart with our mortal needs ? 
 Do the shadows quake in slumber 
 On the book wherein she reads?' 
 
 I know not, I know her being 
 Is impulse and word to mine. 
 Till I voyage, without foreseeing. 
 For a lost horizon line. 
 
 For her the spacious morrow ; 
 But for me the humble day 
 In the little house of sorrow. 
 By the dusty footpath way. 
 
Her hair is a raven glory ; 
 Her chin is pointed and small ; 
 What is the wonderful story 
 Keeps her forever in thrall ? 
 
 The mouth is little and childly. 
 Her brow is innocent broad ; 
 Meekly she reads and mildly. 
 To neither condemn nor applaud. 
 
 Would that I too, a-reading. 
 Might half of her wisdom find. 
 In the gold flowers there unheeding,- 
 The calm of an open mind ! 
 
 Day long, as I keep the homely 
 Round of my chambers here. 
 Her beauty is modest and comely. 
 Her presence living and near. 
 
 8 
 
Till it seems I must recover 
 A day in the ilex grove 
 When I was a destined lover. 
 And she w^as destined for love. 
 
 I remember the woods we strayed in. 
 And the mountain paths we trod. 
 When she was a Doric maiden 
 And I was a young Greek god. 
 
 And I have the haunting fancy. 
 The moment my back is turned. 
 By some Eastern necromancy 
 Only artists have learned. 
 
 Two great grave eyes are lifted 
 To follow me round the room 
 And a sudden breath has shifted 
 A leaf in the Book of Doom. 
 
<&ne l^untiteti copiei* printed bp nam %pa!blt^ at 
 tbe U^apitfilie jprei^j^, in December, .fnabtccpciih.. 
 for %ii^fi Carman anb biitf frienb«.