With lead and line along varying shores : a book of poems . ^ TO ONE SIXTEEN §^ TO ONE SIXTEEN IHO could believe, my little queen,So many years were thine—sixteen!That sifting on thy head their goldSo many moons had oer thee rolled !But stranger still to me, a more appalling than thine age,Is that in all this waste of years —So saidst thou, and with smiles, not tears —Years that diplomas might have earned,To love as yet thou hast not , sixteen years ! Were it a week !But in less time have girls learned Greek;And in less time have eyes less blueWon hearts, yes, worlds — and
With lead and line along varying shores : a book of poems . ^ TO ONE SIXTEEN §^ TO ONE SIXTEEN IHO could believe, my little queen,So many years were thine—sixteen!That sifting on thy head their goldSo many moons had oer thee rolled !But stranger still to me, a more appalling than thine age,Is that in all this waste of years —So saidst thou, and with smiles, not tears —Years that diplomas might have earned,To love as yet thou hast not , sixteen years ! Were it a week !But in less time have girls learned Greek;And in less time have eyes less blueWon hearts, yes, worlds — and lost them half the years that thou hast toldI ve somehow managed to grow old — the figures one of speech —Too old to love, but not to teach ;If learned thou hast not, I, as not forgot what once I me then straight thy teacher be —Since I can nothing learn of thee! 9. ^ WITH LEAD AND LINE §^ TO ONE WHO SAYS SHE IS FIFTY, TOO plainly speak and call spades,spades,I think thou fibbest, Maid of maids—When I my fifty years tell true —?In saying thou art fifty-two !Cloudless thy brow and free from careAs Mornings when the day bids fair;Upon thy cheeks but dimples have thy lips yet lost the glowOf ripening cherries, and thine eyesStill shame the blue of summer then though in thy Bible oldA date be on the birth-page told, —In such a month, on such a eighteen-something thou wert born,More plain on Natures every pageIs writ the secret of her yet if sunshine glad the cares to know when it had birth .-*Why, Venus, whose caressing eyesLook fondly down from velvet born so long ago — not men — 10 ?^ TO ONE FIFTY, TOO 5^ Only the gods up there know when. The morning stars, on duty told, Though late they watch seem never old — And yet together they have sung So long that even I seem young. Iswithleadlinealon00webb
Size: 1734px × 1441px
Photo credit: © The Reading Room / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookauthorpforzhei, bookcentury1900, bookdecade1900, bookyear1901
