How slight a girlish form to reign

As queen upon a throne apart

In a man's thought, through hopes and fears,

And all the changes of the years.

Dear girl, behold, thy boy is now

A man, and grown to middle-age;

The lines are deep upon his brow,

His heart hath been griefs hermitage;

But hidden where no eye can see,

His boyhood's love still lives for thee,—