First Glance

A budding mouth and warm blue eyes; A laughing face; and laughing hair,— So ruddy was its rise From off that forehead fair; Frank fervor in whate'er she said, And a shy grace when she was still; A bright, elastic tread; Enthusiastic will; These wrought the magic of a maid As sweet and sad as the sun in spring;— Joyous, yet half-afraid Her joyousness to sing.