The Sixth Shifts
To lean and slender maidenhood,
With thoughtful eyes and quiet mien
Then, with my mind, I seem to look
At life, spread open as a book;
And I am almost glad, at last,
That I am growing old so fast.
Cornelia,—she just wants to be
A lady, and have friends to tea.
But I should like,—I'm sure I should,—
To be more nobly great and good.
Some one like Joan of Arc, you know;
Saint Katharine, or Mrs. Stowe;
And do brave deeds as they have done.
I wouldn't marry any one;
Unless,—well, maybe, if there came
A noble knight of doughty fame,
Or else an Emperor or King
Who wanted me like anything,
Maybe,—perhaps,—I might say yes,—
But likely I'd say no, I guess,
Well, as to that, some thought I'd give;
But of one thing I'm positive,
I'll have a softly trailing gown,—
Blue velvet edged with snow-white down.
But, such a robe as that to wear,
I'd have to be a Princess Fair.
And I'm quite sure I'd rather be
Nothing but just a grown-up me,
And have the wonders all come true
That through those opening doors I view.
