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The Mystery Of A Year
By Archibald Lampman
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.
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