1895II ^ Study in Heredity 



Better yet than this may be 

 If through mother's eyes you see; 

 Theirs to read — a finer art — 

 Deep down in the human heart. 

 How should one so small as you 

 Choose so well between the two? 



Hide your face behind your fan, 

 Little black-eyed Puritan; 

 Peer across its edge at me 

 In demurest coquetry, 

 Like some Dona Placida, 

 Not the Puritan you are. 

 Subtle sorcery there lies 

 In the glances of your eyes, 

 Calling forth, from out the vast 

 Vaults of the forgotten past. 

 Pictures dim and far away 

 From the full life of today. 

 Like the figures that we see 

 Wrought in ancient tapestry. 



This the vision comes to me: 

 Sheer rock rising from the sea, 

 Wind-riven, harsh, and vertical. 

 To a gray old castle wall; 

 Waving palms upon its height. 

 At its feet the breakers white 

 Chasing o'er an emerald bay 

 Like a flock of swans that play; 

 Tile-roofed houses of the town 

 From the hills, slow-creeping down; 

 Rocks and palms and castle wall. 

 Emerald seas that rise and fall, 

 Golden haze and glittering blue — 

 What is all of this to you? 



Only this, perchance it be 

 Each has left its trace in thee; 

 Only this, that Love is strong, 

 And the arm of Fate is long. 



C 531 : 



