Classic Poem

Awkward was she yesterday,
Pitiful, and poor, and gray,
Nothing to be seen in her.
Must be on her guard to-day,
As when blossoms snow in May,
Lest they all should blow away.

As there were a Queen in her,
As though God had, unawares,
Planted her in a garden of cares,
Blossoms delicate she bears.
There is courage keen in her,
Though upon the ground she stares.

Because she is in blossoms rich,
Because the wind breaks blossoms which
Do not blush for dreams that sinned,
Are not full of innocence,
Caution, shyness, and pretense—
O foolish wind!