Louisa May Alcott

[beeyatchplease]

A little maid, with eager eyes,
The fairy tale I read,
Of lovely princess slumbering
Upon her splendid bed,
Until the prince came thru the wood,
Fighting his way to bliss,
The chosen one, brave, fair and true,
To wake her with a kiss.

I wondered, smiling as I read,
If magic spell or art,
Would ever bring a prince
To wake my innocent young heart.
Ideal heros flitted by, faded and were forgot
But never came my Galahad,
Never my Lancelot.

It's not that this heart of mine
Is narrow, hard, or cold,
For other loves have filled it up
Fuller than it can hold.
It longs to bless, to guard, to give
It aches for every pain
It strives to wash it's sins away
With pity's tender rain.

Oh foolish heart, oh doubting soul,
The sweet tale still is true.
The hour will strike, and through the thorns,
Great love will come to you.
Be worthy, hope, believe and wait,
The long sleep soon will end.
In a divine world, shalt thou find
Thy true, immortal friend.