A Retrospect

There are some wishes that may start.
Nor cloud the brow, nor sting the heart.
Gladly then would I see how smiled
One who now fondles with her child;
How smiled she but six years ago,
Herself a child, or nearly so.
Yes, let me bring before my sight
The silken tresses chained up tight,
The tiny fingers tipt with red
By tossing up the strawberry-bed;
Half-open lips, long violet eyes,
A little rounder with surprise.
And then (her chin against her knee)
"Mamma! who can that stranger be?
How grave the smile he smiles on me!"