Perhaps A Maiden's Bashfulness Is More A

When Held Up To The Window Pane, What Fixed My Baby Stare? The Glory Of The Glittering Rain, And Newness Everywhere.

He Is Dead Already Who Doth Not Feel Life Is Worth Living Still.

Perhaps A Maiden's Bashfulness Is More A Matron's Lesson Than Our Lips Aver.

In Vain Would Science Scan And Trace Firmly Her Aspect. All The While, There Gleams Upon Her Far-off Face A Vague Unfathomable Smile.

So, Timely You Came, And Well You Chose, You Came When Most Needed, My Winter Rose. From The Snow I Pluck You, And Fondly Press Your Leaves 'twixt The Leaves Of My Leaflessness.