C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
Robert William Chambers (18651933)
Eily Considine
A
Eily Considine;
Now she dozes, now she knits,
While the sunshine, through the slits
In the trellised trumpet-vine,
Warms old Eily Considine—
Warms her heart that long ago
Set the Regiment aglow!
Sweeter colleen ne’er was seen
Than Eileen;
Lips that flamed like scarlet wine,
Eyes of azure, smile divine—
Is that you,
Selling apples
Where the golden sunlight dapples,
Eily Considine?
Eily Considine;
That was years ago, I know.
Do you ever think of Stowe—
Stowe, lieutenant in the line—
Shot by Sioux in ’59?
Do you sometimes think of Gray?
I can almost hear him say:—
“Sweeter colleen ne’er was seen
Than Eileen;
Lips that flame like scarlet wine,
Eyes of azure, smile divine—”
Is that you,
Selling apples
Where the golden sunlight dapples,
Eily Considine?
Eily Considine:
You forgave him with a laugh—
You’re too generous by half.
Years ago he died—’twas wine
Killed him, Eily Considine—
Killed him—’twas a death of shame,
Yet in death he cried your name!
Sweeter colleen ne’er was seen
Than Eileen;
Lips of flame, like scarlet wine,
Eyes of azure, smile divine—
Is that you,
Selling apples
Where the golden sunlight dapples,
Eily Considine?
Eily Considine,
Surely Donaldson was deft
To console a soul bereft
In so very brief a time—
Lonely Eily Considine.
After Donaldson came Hurse;
He it was who wrote this verse:—
“Sweeter colleen ne’er was seen
Than Eileen;
Lips that flame like scarlet wine,
Eyes of azure, smile divine—”
Is that you,
Selling apples
Where the golden sunlight dapples,
Eily Considine?
Eily Considine;
Then it went from bad to worse.
Yet if loving was your curse,
Bless me with this curse divine,—
Bless me, Eily Considine!
Phantom dim of long ago,
Misty, faint, and sweet—I know
Sweeter colleen ne’er was seen
Than Eileen;
Lips that flamed like scarlet wine,
Eyes of azure, smile divine—
Is that you,
Selling apples
Where the golden sunlight dapples,
Eily Considine?
Eily Considine;
Now she dozes, now she knits,
And the sunshine through the slits
In the trellised trumpet-vine
Falls on Eily Considine,
On her thin hair, silver-bright;—
God may wash her soul as white.
Sweeter colleen ne’er was seen
Than Eileen;
Lips that flamed like scarlet wine,
Eyes of azure, smile divine—
Peace to you
Selling apples
Where the golden sunlight dapples,
Eily Considine!