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not have thee criticized By vain or vulgar eyes; I would not have thee eulogized By one who could not prize That maiden purity and calm Which form thy most especial charm. I want a poet's heart, to read Thy soft, appealing glance, Who, for his pains, should have the meed, While watching thy sweet countenance, Of sunny smiles, that sudden spread Across thy lips, and, passing thence, Upon thy brow their light dispense. Half child, half woman! the pure faith, That every thing was made for love, Which saved our childish days from scathe, Still bears thy floating feet above The thorns and briars which must tear Those who find no such path of air. And, surely, natural to thee Such confidence must prove, Stealing from every treasury Thy proper hoard of love; For at the first sound of thy voice The closest stores unlock their choice. Almost I weep to let thee go: Fain would I watch above thy path, The least approaching shade to know, That thy unventured Future hath, To lead thee in Life's sweetest ways, And feed thee on Love's heartfelt praise.