Vi

The Sixth Age shifts To lean and slender maidenhood, With thoughtful eyes and quiet mien.

When all the others are at play, Sometimes I like to go away And sit beneath the willow tree, And wait for thought to come to me.

It's just the dearest quiet spot, Where I can think as well as not; And little breezes softly blow, That seem to make my feelings grow.

And all the sunny, golden air Is full of living, everywhere. Then, with a happy little sound, The branches murmur all around,

So close, I scarcely can see through The willow leaves against the blue. Yet far less clearly can I see Through tangled thoughts that come to me.

There seem to be, on every side, Doors suddenly flung open wide; Leading to places strange and fair; I want to go,--yet don't quite dare.

I've been a little girl so long, That, somehow, it seems almost wrong To think how grown-up I shall be In days that have to come to me.

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.