Stephenson's Graded Classical Poems

Black, yet how softly they gleamed beneath the
brown shade of her tresses!
Sweet was her breath as the breath of kine
that feed in the meadows.
When in the harvest heat she bore to the reapers at
noontide
Flagons of home-brewed ale, ah! fair in sooth was
the maiden.
Fairer was she when, on Sunday morn, while the bell
from its turret
Sprinkled with holy sound the air, as the priest
with his hyssop
Sprinkles the congregation, and scatters blessings
upon them,
Down the long street she passed, with her chaplet
of beads and her missal,
Wearing her Norman cap and her kirtle of blue,
and the earrings
Brought in the olden time from France, and since,
as an heirloom,
Handed down from mother to child, through long
generations.
But a celestial brightness---a more ethereal beauty---
Shone on her face and encircled her form, when,
after confession,
Homeward serenely she walked with God's benedic
tion upon her.
When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of
exquisite music.
Firmly builded with rafters of oak, the house of
the farmer
Stood on the side of a hill commanding the sea;
and a shady
Sycamore grew by the door, with a woodbine
wreathing around it.

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