Things of beauty, are free to all.
Free to the eyes, that think no shame
That a girl should bloom like a forest flower.
Who hold that Love is a sacred flame,—
Outward beauty a God-like dower.
Who further regard it as no disgrace
If loveliness lessen to serve the race,
Nor point the finger of jesting scorn
At her who carries the child unborn.
Ah, my heart, but we wandered far