Some souls are white
With perfectness, like stars full-orbed in heaven,
Silently moving through the stainless blue;
Seeming naught of their nature to have drawn
From contact with the earth; and some are white
With innocence, like daisies that too near
The ground their fair leaves fearlessly unfold.
This woman’s soul
Is white with purity; the snowy bloom
Of a camelia, that feels no disdain
In drawing from this common earth of ours
The sources of its beauty and its life;
Yet with a wise and lofty self-control,
Refuses long to blossom to the sun;
Spreading its glossy leaves to light and air;
Winning a deep, sure knowledge of the world;
Rising with quiet dignity and grace
Into a higher air; and when at last
Its stately petals open to the day,
Not with the daisy’s foolish trustfulness,
But with the confidence of slow-won strength,
To the world’s gaze it silently unfolds
The perfect flower of a royal soul,
Not innocent, and yet forever pure.