MIMOSA

A modest plant; soft shades of green

In leaflets poised on slender stem;

And all outspread to catch the glow

Of morning sun or dew-drop gem.

But, lo, what change! When finger-tips

But touch the leaflets’ fringe, the charm

Of life is gone — Mimosa shrinks,

As conscious of some present harm.

So would I have my soul recoil

From touch of wrong or thought of sin;

So throw its portals wide again,

To let the dew and sunshine in.