The Flower to the Bud

Tiny heart beneath my hand, Say, what treasures will you hold? O, what blossom will unfold, Late to bloom, or soon to fade, From this bud, my baby-maid? Through what shallows will you wade, To what heights will you aspire In your spirit's white desire? Will you mar or will you make? Will you give or will you take? Will you glow or will you break With the running of the sand— Tiny heart beneath my hand,