Fair and Fifteen

SHE is the east just ready for the sun
Upon a cloudless morning. Oh, her cheek
Hath caught the trick of that first, delicate streak
Which says earth’s light-ward footsteps have begun!

And still her brow is like some Arctic height
Which never knows the full, hot flush of noon;
She wears the seal of May and not of June;
She is the new day, furthest off from night!

Luring in promise of all daintiest sweetness:
A bud with crimson rifting through its green;
The large, clear eyes, so shy their lids between,
Give hints of this dear wonder’s near completeness.

For, when the bud is fair and full, like this,
We know that there will be a queen of roses,
Before her cloister’s emerald gate uncloses,
And her true knight unlocks her with a kiss!

And gazing on the young moon, fashioned slightly,
A silver cipher inlaid on the blue,
For all that she is strange and slim and new,
We know that she will grow in glory nightly.

And dear to loving eyes as that first look
The watcher getteth of the far, white sail,
This new light on her face; she doth prevail
Upon us like a rare, unopened book!