Classic Poem

I

Sit still, child, if you know the way,
Cross your white arms upon your breast,
Let the dark glory of your hair
From bands escape.
'Tis weary always to be gay;
And sweet is silence, sweet is rest:
We drink the juices of despair
From Life's crushed grape.

II

Why should I lecture? You are young,
And tameless as a dragon-fly,
And beautiful to look upon,
And sweet to touch.
Nothing you know of nerves unstrung,
Nor can believe that you will die,
And go where other girls have gone.
I ask too much.

III

Pshaw! Flutter like a pretty bird,
Outrun the wind, outlaugh the brooks,
Flout the frail ferns with flying feet,
Outblush the rose;
Let your young petulant voice be heard
Joyous through all the forest-nooks.
But have you got a soul, my sweet?
Who knows? Who knows?