To Lonely Youth

So, lean your head against my knee,
And cry, and tell it all to me.

You need not play-act now, poor child;
You of the windy heart and wild,
Whom all the boys and girls pass by
Because you are not like them.
Cry!
Cry till the laughter flickers through,
Bright from the good brave pride in you,
Bidding you know how young you are,
Happy with sunbeams or a star
Or sea-storms or a butterfly.
You, whom the boys and girls pass by,
Have merrier thoughts each dawn of day
Than in a year of dancing, they!

And yet, you envy them. Ah, there!
Toss back your tangle-top, and stare
Straight in my eyes, you child.
How deep
The full-grown passionate wonders sleep!
You cannot guess how rich you are,
Lover of silence and a star: —
Longing (great eyes and gleaming curls)
Just to be like all other girls;
Just to be gay, and quick, and wear
The same wide ribbons in your hair,
To talk the same sharp chatter, change
The same small jokes.
While you — can range
The Silver Mountains of the Moon
In curly-footed elfin shoon;

And feel the Spirits of the Air
Whisper across that tumbled hair;
Can hear, not very far away,
True Joy and Sorrow calling, ‘Lay
Your childhood by! We come to meet,
Full soon, the twinkle of your feet:
But we shall make you wise, and strong,
And gay as gods, not girls, ere long!’

Oh, lean your head against my knee,
And listen, breathing quietly.

For all the ribbons and the curls
You are not like those other girls. —
Dear heart, you cannot laugh as they,
Who never know what makes you gay:
You must be lonely, often; yes,
And learn to love your loneliness.

Yes, lonely, — wistful eyes!
Oh, child,
Vexed by the windy heart and wild,
Youth hurts you, and must hurt you. Yet
Hold to your dreams! nor once forget
They shall be utter Youth for you
When other’s dancing-days are through.
Hold to your dreams!
What if, to-night,
You seemed so stupid, and the light
Young laughter lashed you? — Some day,
sweet, Your turn shall come! your turn, to greet
High Friends, deep Love: no puppet-play,
But Love’s last pain and pride, some day.
And nights like this, Tired Heart, will seem
The least queer shadow of a dream!

And yet (great eyes and tear-wet curls)
You would be like those other girls!
So be it! Run! Blow out the light.
But — no more tears! — You child, good-night!