A Girl
Michael Field
A Girl,     Her soul a deep-wave pearlDim, lucent of all lovely mysteries;     A face flowered for heart’s ease,     A brow’s grace soft as seas     Seen through faint forest-trees:     A mouth, the lips apart,Like aspen-leaflets trembling in the breeze    From her tempestuous heart.    Such: and our souls so knit,    I leave a page half-writ —       The work begunWill be to heaven’s conception done,       If she come to it.