SILKEN SORROW.
I ride while others trudge, Th'e costliest silks I wear, Bright jewels shiue on this breast of mine. But a starving heart is there: A heart grown cold and dead. Though the red blood dyes my cheek. Now, alas! for pride, that could dare to hide What I longed to hear him speak. My kerchief dropped that day: His eyes, that flamed to mine Bike stars, went down in a niglit-black frown At the coronet's broidered sign. The daughter of an Earl; But blood is blood, and beats— Through bluest veins from ancient strains At the dream of a world of sweets. I would have swept his floors, Darned socks—a household drudge; But he never spoke. So here, alone, A silken sorrow that dares not moan, I ride*—while the happy trudge. —Ada Bartrick Baker, in '‘Chambers's."
Permanent link to this item
https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/NZMAIL19030429.2.84.1
Bibliographic details
New Zealand Mail, Issue 1626, 29 April 1903, Page 24
Word Count
138SILKEN SORROW. New Zealand Mail, Issue 1626, 29 April 1903, Page 24
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