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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.