Then turn to the future with wondering gaze,
To trace on its pages its fast coming days.
How long will her ringlets of raven-like fold,
Lie darkly amid its thick tresses of gold?
That seem in their beauty of darkness, and light,
Like the sunlight of morning in dalliance with night.
She gazes upon him—her idol, her joy,
The hope of her bosom—her sunny-haired boy,
And feels the whole world in its domain so wide,
Hath nought in its gift, like her darling, her pride.