Classic Poem

Portrait of a Stranger

She was so young, it seemed that Spring had turned
Earthward to make her before brooks were clear
Of their last ice — before first blades appear
Of grass, and not one April flower had burned
Its little light under the pale blue sky.
She was so young, I knew she could not know
Anything more than that the wind can blow
Dark violet-blooms to sway most delicately.
But one calm evening, when a quiet star
Was great and luminous above the west,
We talked of what is good and bad and best,
And how the nearest things are the most far,
And how the things-that-are-not chiefly are ...
I think, now, Spring's old self lives in her breast.English