THROUGH her fair world of blossoms fresh and bright, <br />Veiled with her maiden innocence, she goes; <br />Not all the splendour of the waxing light <br />She sees, nor all the colour of the rose; <br />And yet who knows what finer hues she sees, <br />Hid by our wisdom from our longing eyes? <br />Who knows what light she sees in skies and seas <br />Which is withholden from our seas and skies? <br /> <br /> <br />Shod with her youth the thorny paths she treads <br />And feels not yet the treachery of the thorn, <br />Her crown of lilies still its perfume sheds <br />Where Love, the thorny crown, not yet is borne. <br />Yet in the mystery of her peaceful way <br />Who knows what fears beset her innocence, <br />Who, trembling, learns that thorns will wound some day, <br />And wonders what thorns are, and why, and whence?<br /><br />Edith Nesbit<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/maidenhood-2/