| Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900. |
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| 1521. Mrs. Golightly |
| | | By Gertrude Hall |
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| THE TIME is come to speak, I think: | |
| For on the square I met | |
| My beauteous widow, fresh and pink, | |
| Her black gown touched at every brink | |
| With tender violet; | 5 |
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| And at her throat the white crêpe lisse | |
| Spoke, in a fluffy bow, | |
| Of woe that should perhaps ne’er cease— | |
| (Peace to thy shade, Golightly, peace!) | |
| Yet mitigated woe. | 10 |
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| In her soft eye, that used to scan | |
| The ground, nor seem to see, | |
| The hazel legend sweetly ran, | |
| “I could not wholly hate a man | |
| For quite adoring me.” | 15 |
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| And when she drew her ’kerchief fine, | |
| A hint of heliotrope | |
| Its snow edged with an inky line | |
| Exhaled,—from which scent you divine | |
| Through old regrets new hope. | 20 |
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| And then her step, so soft and slow, | |
| She scarcely seemed to lift | |
| From off the sward her widowed toe,— | |
| One year, one little year ago!— | |
| So soft yet, yet so swift; | 25 |
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| Then, too, her blush, her side glance coy, | |
| Tell me in easy Greek | |
| (I wonder could her little boy | |
| Prove source of serious annoy?) | |
| The time has come to speak. | 30 |
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