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To M. W., on her Birthday
#1
To M. W., on her Birthday

Maiden! when such a soul as thine is born,
The morning stars their ancient music make,
And, joyful, once again their song awake,
Long silent now with melancholy scorn;

And thou, not mindless of so blest a morn,
By no least deed its harmony shalt break,
But shalt to that high chime thy footsteps take,
Through life’s most darksome passes unforlorn:

Therefore from thy pure faith thou shalt not fall,
Therefore shalt thou be ever fair and free,
And in thine every motion musical

As summer-air, majestic as the sea,
A mystery to those who creep and crawl
Through Time, and part it from Eternity!
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