A Girls Thoughts
Dim apprehension of a trust Comes over me this quiet hour, As though the silence were a flower, And this, its perfume, dark like dust. My individual self would cling Through fear, through pride, unto its fears : It strives to shut out what it hears, The founts of being murmuring. 0 ! Need, whose hauntings terrorize; Whether my maiden ways would hide, Or lose and to that need subside, Life shrinks and instinct dreads surprise.
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