She was a little peasant maid,
He was a lord of high degree;
Her hair was like the tasseled corn,
And oh! her lips were sweet to see.
One pleasant morn in budded May
They met upon a quiet road,
Twin snow-flakes fell above her eyes,
And oh! how warm her blushes glowed.
She wore a skirt of palest green,
A kerchief round her throat was laid;
And still her lashes were cast down,
As though—coquette!—she were afraid!
She held a milk-pail in her hand;
Her slippers small were wet with dew
Fresh shaken from the clover blooms
That she had been a-walking through.
The noble lord of high degree
Was gay with buttons’ gold, and braid;
His eyes were lifted,—it was plain
That he, at least, was not afraid.
He held a nosegay in his hand;
He had a lordly smile and air;
He wore a large, three-cornered hat,
And whitely powdered was his hair.
They paused some tiny steps apart,
The blush still burning on her cheek,
And both her silent—but his look
Revealed the love he wished to speak.
The months have come and gone, and yet
Apart they still stand—for alack!
This noble lord and peasant maid
Are on my shelf of bric-a-brac.
And they are only painted Bisque!
And yet how real seem today
Those downcast eyes, those blushing cheeks,
And the looked words he longs to say!
“The Lord and the Peasant Maid” as it appeared in Higginson’s column “Clover Leaves” in the Seattle Times newspaper Clipping courtesy of the Ella Higginson Papers, Center for Pacific Northwest Studies, Heritage Resources, Western Washington University, Bellingham Washington.