poem index


Louise Morgan Sill

Printer-friendly version

by this poet

Down Maiden Lane, where clover grew,  
  Sweet-scented in the early air,  
Where sparkling rills went shining through  
  Their grassy banks, so green, so fair,  
Blithe little maids from Holland land
  Went tripping, laughing each to each,  
To bathe the flax, or spread a band  
  Of linen in the sun to bleach