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Alfred Austin - Grata Juventas
Work rating: Low

She trembles when I touch
 The tips of scarce—grown fingers,
 Yet seems to think it overmuch
 If for a moment lingers
 Grasp that I hardly meant for such.

 She clutcheth toy or book,
 Or female hand beside her;
 Now with askant, unsettled look,
 Inviteth, then doth hide her,
 Like struggling lily in a brook.

  Anon she darteth glance
 Athwart averted shoulder;
 But when encouraged I advance,
 Asudden waxing colder,
 Her gaze lacks all significance.

 O were she younger still,
 Or more than a beginner,
 I might control my troubled will,
 Or give it rein and win her:
 But now she is nor good nor ill.
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