The Baby And The Breeze
by Frances Sargent Locke Osgood
The breeze was high, and blew her sun-brown tresses
About her snowy brow and violet eyes;
And she -- my Ellen -- brave and sweetly wise,
In gay defiance of its rough caresses,
With rosy, pouting mouth, essay'd at length
To blow the rude airs back, that mock'd her baby strength.
Ah! thus when Fortune's storms assail thy soul,
Yield not, nor shrink! but bear thee bravely still
Against their fury! With thine own sweet will
And childlike faith, oppose their fierce control,
So shalt thou bloom at last, my treasured flower,
Unharm'd by tempest-shock, in Heaven's calm summer bower!