Budding Youth

Is it languor on the thick-fringed lashes? A lowered glance, and shyness?
Bewilderment... and you ask?
Gently! It is her budding youth — do not hasten it!
And let her girlhood drink deep of untroubled living... of play and frolic,
for the day she looks out on the world of young womanhood, no returning
is left her!

•

Gently! It is her budding youth — do not hasten it!!
The kindling of the cheeks in a struggle of longing,
the widening of the eyes into dancing stars,
the swelling of visions — the beguilement of promises...
and the coquetry of the supple body, in fullness... and defiance!

•

And O her heart... hold off the first throb!
Let it not alarm the ribs, clamoring with what it craves!
Nor be swept away, yearning, after a mirage!
It cradles a maiden host of gathered wishes...
and the first of care shakes hands with her soul!

•

A bud of tender stem she is, still,
nearer to childhood's innocence,
fitter yet for her mother's embrace...
Gently... it is her budding youth — do not hasten it!!