The Mystery Of A Year

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A little while, a year agone,
  I knew her for a romping child,
A dimple and a glance that shone
  With idle mischief when she smiled.

To-day she passed me in the press,
  And turning with a quick surprise
I wondered at her stateliness,
  I wondered at her altered eyes.

To me the street was just the same,
  The people and the city's stir;
But life had kindled into flame,
  And all the world was changed for her.

I watched her in the crowded ways,
  A noble form, a queenly head,
With all the woman in her gaze,
  The conscious woman in her tread.

© Archibald Lampman