Portrait of an Old Lady

Early one morning- as I went a-walking I met an old lady so stately and tall,

The red of her cheeks gave a quiver of pleasure Like the sight of red hollyhocks by a grey wall.

Fragrance of lavender clung to her, telling Of linen piled high on immaculate shelves ;

You could fancy her tending her garden or strolling Among the proud roses that grow by themselves.

When I am sorrowful, dreading the future, Dreaming of days when my hair shall be grey,

It cheers me to think of that lovely old lady, Lavender-haunted and hollyhock-gay.