 | Poems |  |
37
Sweet Seventeen
I would not bring the menace
Of mourning autumn near
The tender buds of promise
Of this thy blossoming year!
O fresh in mind and feature!
I would not overcast
The sunshine of thy future
With the shadow of my past.
Of mourning autumn near
The tender buds of promise
Of this thy blossoming year!
O fresh in mind and feature!
I would not overcast
The sunshine of thy future
With the shadow of my past.
I would not breathe my sorrows,
To blur with ageing blight
Thy green ungathered morrows,
Unfolding to the light;
God keep thee, fairy creature!
God separate, to the last,
The sunshine of thy future
From the shadow of my past!
To blur with ageing blight
Thy green ungathered morrows,
Unfolding to the light;
God keep thee, fairy creature!
God separate, to the last,
The sunshine of thy future
From the shadow of my past!
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