EVES,

Never — O, little town maid! why reason
The problem out?

The “ Wherefores ” of life are passing strange
Beyond a doubt;

And why sweet childhood’s dawning hours
Should prisoned be
Away from haunt of bird and flower,
Is deepest mystery.
MarGareT SIDNEY.

 

EYES.

THERE are eyes of black, and blue, and gray,
And eyes of sunny brown,

The great black eyes look fearless up,
And the sky-blue eyes look down.

And some look cross and some look sad,
And some look laughing, too,
But all look love to mamma’s eyes,
Black, brown, or gray, or blue.
Grace H. Dvurrtetp.