A girl's portrait seen in the morning, As fresh to the eyes as sun's rising Soft orange on paling blue. Post-colonial youth in her summer dress And white hat -- red ribbons in her hair, Caught before flowers. None of my portraits show such A gentleman in a boy, as there's a lady In that girl. I have not lived enough. To come only some score of miles In as many years; 'tis scarce milieu enough To frame so telling a pose of me. But the cares of the world are in her now As they are in me. Do I give credit For the hint of that girl, and cheat Myself of like advantage? Warm but weary this early morning, Have my cares tried me no less? You and I made a happy day Of youth in the city. And tho' We knew ourselves no purer than this city, With its sad-shameful-rushing life -- Still for a moment, you sat on flowers, And I was a young gentleman With a clumsy bouquet of daisies, And my five-year-old's kiss.
February 25, 2005