Poetry Archives

I watched the glory of her childhood change,
Half-sorrowful to find the child I knew,
  (Loved long ago in lily-time),
Become a maid, mysterious and strange,
With fair, pure eyes—dear eyes, but not the eyes I knew
   Of old, in the olden time!

Till on my doubting soul the ancient good
Of her dear childhood in the new disguise
   Dawned, and I hastened to adore
The glory of her waking maidenhead,
And found the old tenderness within her deepening eyes,
   But kinder than before.