 | Forest buds, from the woods of Maine |  |
9
ADA.
Hers is one of those sweet faces
Made to light earth's darkest places,—
Wherein childhood's playful archness brightens earnest thought's repose,—
She is fairer, purer, sweeter,
Than when woman's years shall greet her,
Even as is the bud unblossomed sweeter than the ripened rose.
Made to light earth's darkest places,—
Wherein childhood's playful archness brightens earnest thought's repose,—
She is fairer, purer, sweeter,
Than when woman's years shall greet her,
Even as is the bud unblossomed sweeter than the ripened rose.
There is no voluptuous splendor
In her face so pure, so tender,—
Naught of mid-summer perfection,—'t is the promise of young June,—
Naught of womanhood's completeness,—
But an innocence, a sweetness
Dearer far, as is the morning lovelier than the perfect noon.
In her face so pure, so tender,—
Naught of mid-summer perfection,—'t is the promise of young June,—
Naught of womanhood's completeness,—
But an innocence, a sweetness
Dearer far, as is the morning lovelier than the perfect noon.
10
Less an angel,—more a woman,—
Less etherial and more human
Will she be when five more Aprils shall have browned each sunny curl,—
She will seem another creature,
Changed in heart and hope and feature,
When the woman's cares and trials drown the visions of the girl.
Less etherial and more human
Will she be when five more Aprils shall have browned each sunny curl,—
She will seem another creature,
Changed in heart and hope and feature,
When the woman's cares and trials drown the visions of the girl.
Lapsed in bright and gorgeous dreaming
With romance's rose-rays gleaming,
Yet she makes a gentle effort to awaken from its power,
Conscious of a sphere of being
Just beyond her tinted seeing,
Like a bee at morning drowsing in a yet unopened flower.
With romance's rose-rays gleaming,
Yet she makes a gentle effort to awaken from its power,
Conscious of a sphere of being
Just beyond her tinted seeing,
Like a bee at morning drowsing in a yet unopened flower.
And she looks with childish wonder
Toward the misty realm beyond her,
Where are cares and strifes and discords,—toil for heart and hand and brain,—
But she hearkens all unfearing
Like a young bird faintly hearing
From beneath its mother's pinions, the rude rushing of the rain.
Toward the misty realm beyond her,
Where are cares and strifes and discords,—toil for heart and hand and brain,—
But she hearkens all unfearing
Like a young bird faintly hearing
From beneath its mother's pinions, the rude rushing of the rain.
Time will be no partial preacher,—
Good and evil he will teach her—
Hopes and fears will fill her bosom,—joys and griefs will try their power,
But the innocency tender
Haloing her brow with splendor,
Will depart, as does the rain-drop from the forehead of a flower.
Good and evil he will teach her—
Hopes and fears will fill her bosom,—joys and griefs will try their power,
11
Haloing her brow with splendor,
Will depart, as does the rain-drop from the forehead of a flower.
As a woman she is fated,—
She will be adored, and hated,—
Know all depths of joy and sorrow,—see glad days and gloomy years;—
And her path that now lies glowing
Through green vales,—by streams sweet flowing,
Will wind sadly through dark places, where the ground is wet with tears.
She will be adored, and hated,—
Know all depths of joy and sorrow,—see glad days and gloomy years;—
And her path that now lies glowing
Through green vales,—by streams sweet flowing,
Will wind sadly through dark places, where the ground is wet with tears.
Ah, the “evil days” are nearing,
When her day-dreams disappearing,
She will wake to mourn the absence of this freshness, joy, and truth,
And her spirit backward turning
Will be vaguely, vainly yearning
For the tender light and gladness of the Morning Land of youth.
When her day-dreams disappearing,
She will wake to mourn the absence of this freshness, joy, and truth,
And her spirit backward turning
Will be vaguely, vainly yearning
For the tender light and gladness of the Morning Land of youth.
Ah, that woman's gladdest laughter
Has a mournful echo after!
Ah, that time should sow wild discord 'mid her heart's resounding strings!
Ah, that wealth and pride and power
Should eclipse love's holy dower,—
That earth's soiling dust should gather on her spirit's snowy wings!
Has a mournful echo after!
Ah, that time should sow wild discord 'mid her heart's resounding strings!
12
Should eclipse love's holy dower,—
That earth's soiling dust should gather on her spirit's snowy wings!
Stay awhile, oh, dawning maiden!
Coming time with change is laden,—
Linger yet upon the threshold of thy womanhood's domain;—
For as years around thee cluster,
Though they bring thee added lustre,
They will take a bloom, a freshness, that will never come again!
Coming time with change is laden,—
Linger yet upon the threshold of thy womanhood's domain;—
For as years around thee cluster,
Though they bring thee added lustre,
They will take a bloom, a freshness, that will never come again!
| Forest buds, from the woods of Maine | |