Classic Poem

A child was she but yesterday,
To-day a child no longer — no!
The bud its flower doth now display,
And now — half closed — scarce seems to blow.
What means this wonder, who can say?
Or am I mocked by outward show?

Such childish thoughts her words express,
So artless seem her glances bold,
Yet fuller meanings oft I guess
And depths without an end behold;
Such wonders Love's first dawn confess,
For Love hath wonders manifold!