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.