Edward Rowland Sill

To Child Anna

AS in the Spring, ere any flowers have come,
A vague and blossomy smell
Pervades the woods, all odors mixed in one,
As if to tell
That they are mustering in each sunny dell,

So round your childish form there seems to cling
A sense of nameless grace,
A sweet confusion--budding hints of Spring
Just giving place
To graver woman-shadows in your face.

I see no longer the mere child you are--
The woman you might be
Stands in your place, with eyes that gaze afar:
Her face I see,
And it is very beautiful to me.

The little soft white hands you lay in mine
I touch with reverent care;
I see them wrinkled into many a line,
But fair--more fair
For every weary deed they do and bear.

The fresh young mouth, all careless purity,
Has faded from my gaze,
And all the tender looks, which charity
And many patient days
Leave round the lips, seem now to take its place.

Therefore I stroke so tenderly your head,
Or watch your steps afar,
Praying that God His love on you will shed;
More faithful far
Than our blind human love and watching are.