Book 4 — CCLXXX AGNES

I saw her in childhood— A bright, gentle thing, Like the dawn of the morn, Or the dews of the spring: The daisies and hare-bells Her playmates all day; Herself as light-hearted And artless as they. I saw her again— A fair girl of eighteen, Fresh glittering with graces Of mind and of mien. Her speech was all music; Like moonlight she shone; The envy of many, The glory of one. Years, years fleeted over— I stood at her foot: The bud had grown blossom, The blossom was fruit. A dignified mother, Her infant she bore; And look'd, I thought, fairer Than ever before. I saw her once more— 'Twas the day that she died; Heaven's light was around her, And God at her side; No wants to distress her, No fears to appal— O then, I felt, then She was fairest of all!