She was so young, it seemed that Spring had turned Earthward to make her before brooks were clear Of their last ice, -- before first blades appear Of grass, and not one April flower had burned Its little light under the pale blue sky. She was so young, I knew she could not know Anything more than that the wind can blow Dark violet-blooms to sway most delicately. But one calm evening, when a quiet star Was great and luminous above the west, We talked of what is good and bad and best, And how the nearest things are the most far, And how the things-that-are-not chiefly are . . . . I think, now, Spring's old self lives in her breast. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...STABAT MATER DOLOROSA by JACOPONE DA TODI IN TIME OF GRIEF by LIZETTE WOODWORTH REESE SUNDAY MORNING by WALLACE STEVENS LINES FROM A PLUTOCRATIC POETASTER TO A DITCH-DIGGER by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS THE LADY UNKNOWN by ALEXANDER (ALEKSANDR) ALEXANDROVICH BLOK |