Marcia

Madeline's hair is straight and yours
Is just as curly as tendril vines;
And she is fair, but a deeper color
Your cheeks of olive incarnadines.

A serious wisdom burns and glows
Steadily in your dark-eyed look.
Already a wit and a little stoic—
Perhaps you are going to write a book,

Or paint a picture, or sing or act
The part of Katherine or Juliet.
I believe you were born with the gift of knowing
When to remember and when to forget.

And when to stifle and kill a grief,
And clutch your heart when it beats in vain.
The heart that has most strength for feeling
Must have the strength to conquer the pain.

You understand? It seems that you do—
Though you cannot utter a word to me.
Marcia, Marcia, look at Madeline
Building a doll-house under the tree!