BE kind to her O Time. She is too much afraid of you Because yours is a land unknown, Wintry, dark and lone. 'Tis not for her To pass Boldly upon your roadless waste. Roads she loves, and the bright ringing Of quick heels, and clear singing. She is afraid Of Time, Forty to seventy sadly fearing ... O, all those unknown years, And these sly, stoat-like fears! Shake not on her Your snows, But on the rich, the proud, the wise Who have that to make them glow With warmth beneath the snow. If she grow old At last, Be it yet unknown to her; that she Not until her last prayer is prayed May whisper, "I am afraid!" |