THE MYSTERY OF A YEAR

A little while, a year agone,

I knew her for a romping child,

A dimple and a glance that shone

With idle mischief when she smiled.

To-day she passed me in the press,

And turning with a quick surprise

I wondered at her stateliness,

I wondered at her altered eyes.

To me the street was just the same,

The people and the city's stir;

But life had kindled into flame,

And all the world was changed for her.

I watched her in the crowded ways,

A noble form, a queenly head,

With all the woman in her gaze,

The conscious woman in her tread.