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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Girlhood, the dearest time of joy and love, The sunny spring of gladness and of peace, The time that joins its links with heaven above, And all that's pure below; a running ease Of careless thought beguiles the murmuring stream Of girlish life, and as some sweet, vague dream, The fleeting days go by; fair womanhood Comes oft to lure the girlish feet away, But by the brooklet still they love to stray, Nor long to seek the world's engulfing flood. Hilda—a name that seems to stand alone— So strong, so clear it sharply echoing tone; And yet a name that holds a weirdlike grace, Withal like some strange, haunting, beauteous face; A woman's name, by woman's truth made dear, That leans upon itself and knows no fear, And yet a name a shrinking girl might wear, With girlish ease, devoid of thought and care. And she is worthy of this name so true— This girl with thoughtful eyes of darkest hue, This maiden stepping o'er the golden line That separates the child from woman divine. Not yet she feels the longing, vague unrest That ever fills the woman's throbbing breast, But with a childlike questioning after truth, She lingers yet amid the dreams of youth. And now upon the bounding ocean's shore She stands where creep the wavelets more and more, Until at last the rocky ledge they meet, And break in foam around her lingering feet. Her eyes glance downward in a careless way, As though she loved their soft caressing play, And fain would stand and muse forever there, Lulled by their murmuring sound. Placid and fair The ocean lies before her dreamy eyes, Stretched forth in beauty 'neath the sunny skies, And through the clouds' far lifting, sheeny mist She sees the pale blue skies by sunlight kissed. Enraptured by the calm and holy scene, She stands a creature pure and glad; serene, Her eyes glance heavenward and a roseate shade Plays o'er her Hebe features—perfect made. A child of nature, she has never known The arts and wiles which worldlier spirits own; She loves the ocean's ever changing play, When round her form is flung its dashing spray, And oft she laughs in wildest, merriest glee When folded close within its billows free. She loves the wildwood's green and leafy maze, Within whose foliage hide the sun's bright rays; And like a child she hoards the bright-eyed flowers, Companions of so many happy hours. With loving heart she greets each form of earth, To which God's kindly hand has given birth. But better far than all, she loves to roam Far on the cliff's lone height, and there at eve To watch the dark ships as they wander home. Strange dreams in this calm hour her fancies weave, So quaint and odd, they seem but shadowy rays, Caught from the sunset's deep, mysterious haze. Lo! now she stands like some pale statue fair, With eyes cast down and careless falling hair; She vaguely dreams of things that are to be, A woman's future, noble, fresh and free; And o'er her face youth's crimson colors flow, As with a beating heart she thinks she'll give Her life to one true heart, and with a glow Of pride she vows her future life to live So good and true that all her days shall seem But the fulfillment of his heart's proud dream. Yet soon she trembles with some unknown thought, A vague and restless longing fills her breast, And with a passionate fear her mind is wrought. She cannot case away the strange unrest; With hands clasped close in attitude of prayer She stands, her pleading face so young and fair, Is turned unto the skies, but no, not here Will God speak all unto her listening ear; Too soon in dark, deep strife upon this shore Her soul will yield its peace forevermore. And then she hurries home with flying feet, The faces of that humble home to meet; For there in peace her dear old parents dwell, That simple twain who love this maid so well They fain would keep her with them ever there, A thoughtless child, free from all grief and care. But ah! they cannot understand the heart, Which turns from all their loving ways apart, And dwells within a region of its own. Within that home she seems to stand alone, While all unseen the forces gather, day By day, that o'er her life shall hold their sway; And like a fragile flower before the storm, She bows her head and ends her slender form, For even like the flower she must stand And brave the tempest, for 'tis God's command. And like to her how many a girl has stood Upon the unknown brink of womanhood And sought in vain from guiding hand and power; But unlike her in that dread trial hour, They've lost their faith, for Hilda's trusting mind, E'en though it stood alone, had so much strength, And faith that to life's problem she could find Solution strange and subtle; even though at length She might complain and grieve o'er all the wasted past. Oh! life is dark and full of unseen care, And better were it if all girls thus fair And young were truly understood at last. For every girl some time will feel the need Of loving hearts to strengthen and to lead, When first are opened to her wondering eyes The world's fair fields and seeming paradise. She only sees the beauty—hears the song, Knows not the hidden snares, nor dreams of wrong. 'Tis woman's happiest time, and yet 'tis true A sombre tinge may mar its brightest hue. For girlhood too will have its doubts and fears, Will lose the past and long for coming years, And sad indeed when youth is left alone To face the coming future all unknown. The eyes see not that should be strong and keen; While powerless, weak girlhood stands between The tides of life, and though its aims are high, How often will they fail! Where dangers lie Poor Hilda stands and knows it not, the dream Of life to her is bright, youth's sunny gleam Shines over all in tender, softened light, And swiftly do the moments wing their flight. But yet so sensitive her shrinking soul, That o'er her life sometimes great shadows roll, Like angry clouds; upon a wild dark shore She stands, alone and weak, while more and more The unknown forces grow and cast their blight, Till all the past is lost in one dark night; Unto the woman's lot her life is cast, And like a dream the girlish days drift past.
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