Classic Poem

Oh , she held her head high;
She walked the fields as though
She trod a crimson carpet
That bowing slaves held low.
Yet once her feet had followed his
The path he chose to go.

Oh, her eyes were proud ones,
Jewel-bright and clear,
Haughty as a queen's might be
When poor folk come too near.
Yet once they laughed back joy to his
And melted at his tear.

Oh, her mouth was scornful —
Not a smile amiss;
Over-quick to mock, perchance,
At another's bliss,
Yet once 'twas tender with his name
And lifted to his kiss.