Michiganensian. [1900]

The Love of Her.
R. R. KIRK.
HEN the leaves of the maples were turning
To purple and crimson and g'old,
And the willows were gold by the river,
And the meadows were bronzed and old;
Wllen the marshes were purple with asters,
And the hills aglow with the glory
Of golden-rod-and jewelled with rose pods'Tis then commences my story.
The glorious sun had arisen
And the mist between us a veil
To withhold his golden arrows,
Whlen there came a fair lady pale.
And her tresses were spun sunshine,
And I could not behold her eyes,
For they were the heavenly azure
Of an angel's of paradise.
As white as the birch tree gleameth
Through the haze of an autumn day
Was her hand; and as song one dreameth,
So sweet her tongue's melody:
And her feet on the grasses tinkled,
As a brook sings toward the sea;
And she was as litlie as the willow,
And stood as a hemlock tree.
I was a Shepherd lad lowly,
And tended my sheep for hire;
And she was the gentle daughter
Of a rich and haughty sire.
But love hath no kin of station,
And knoweth no worldly pride;
And one word softly spoken
Outweigheth all else beside.