Youthful Purity

The flowers ask about her —
Why her fragrance is so sweet,
And about the scent of her footsteps,
Over which the leaves bend tenderly,
And how it gathered up her radiance
And stole from her splendor.

She embraces the sun in glory,
With a pride that never rebels;
No brow has ever moistened,
No conscience ever slipped.
You are the foster-child of purity —
You have lulled a sleepless eyelid.