For all the world's a wondrous thing,
And magic to the life that's new,
And heartily her voice-chords ring
Beside her father's in his pew.
Who sees her clad in muslin white,
With eyes downcast and manner prim,
May well be minded by the sight,
Of angels pure or cherubim.
Yet, oh, the secret lusts of life!
The thrills and throbs but half divined;
The future and the great word "Wife,"
Which ofttimes occupy her mind!
The wicked thoughts that come and go,
The dreams that leave her soul aghast,
And make her long to hold and know
The entertaining truth at last!
But still the elfs upon the plain,
And in the arbour where she lolls,
With merry gesture cry again:
Too young for babes, too old for dolls.
[1] First published in The New Age, December 4th, 1919.