She feels the world, it touches her <br />Like a weird thing she needs must know, <br />While all her fears and fancies stir <br />As in a death-dream long ago. <br />She has passed from her youth to this — <br />A woman grown with misty eyes, <br />Knowing the world no nunnery is <br />For the heart stripped of its disguise. <br />Her feet now pace a thorny path <br />Where mournful hopes like fiends confer, <br />And e'en the power her beauty hath <br />Seems one with what would ruin her.<br /><br />Robert Crawford<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/womanhood-8/
