MYSELF. 365 
But when once more the skies were fair, 
And I the woods could win, 
For books and rhymes that charmed me there 
I did not care a pin. 
My mother saw my garments soiled, 
And thought it hardly right ; 
But, when I wished to go again, 
My father said I might. 
And now I am a woman grown, 
And strive to keep my hair 
Beneath the guidance of my comb, 
And bind my dress with care. 
Through slumps and drifts I do not roam, 
Nor climb the hemlock trees, 
Nor hide ’mid cobwebbed trunks at home— 
For fear ‘twill raise a breeze. 
I thread the world’s unchanging maze, 
Through all Life’s fettered span, 
And seek to be in all my ways 
As “proper” as I can. 
I never liked the ways of men, 
Or wished more old to grow, 
For life was wondrous curious then, 
And isn’t curlous now. 










