The Silver City

Yonder she sits beside the tranquil Dee,

Kindly yet cold, respectable and wise,

Sharp-tongued though civil, with wide-open eyes,

Dreaming of hills, yet urgent for the sea;

And still and on, she has her vanity,

Wears her grey mantle with a certain grace,

While sometimes there are roses on her face

To sweeten too austere simplicity.

She never taught her children fairy-lore,

Yet they must go a-seeking crocks of gold

Afar throughout the earth;

And when their treasure in her lap they pour,

Her hands upon her knee do primly fold;

She smiles complacent that she gave them birth.