To Helen

Lie still in my arms, little four-years-old,

Little bud that glows

With more beauty and passion than it can hold,

Little flaming rose,

The spring's red blossoms, when winter lies deep

On a wind-swept world

Of tossing branches, lie safely asleep

In brown buds curled.

They wake — and the wind strips their petals away

And spills them afar —

Can I keep you from blooming, whatever I say,

Wild bud that you are!