Classic Poem

I used to watch her girlish head
Bent over work; the sunlight stole
To touch her wayward hair, and spread
A soft encircling aureole.

She looked so slight, so innocent!
I thought, at twenty-one or so,
With all-sufficient self-content,
I knew so much she did not know.

For men grow old in knowing, taught
By evil things, as well as good;
My life was in the world, I thought,
And hers in gentle solitude.

But now, at twenty-four, there lies
Such wisdom, won of joy and pain,
Deep shining in her quiet eyes
As I may nevermore attain.

I might not learn it if I would,
This strange, sweet thing she understands;
It came to her with motherhood
And tiny touch of baby hands.