Unwillingly Miranda wakes,
Feels the sun with terror,
One unwilling step she takes,
Shuddering to the mirror.
 
Miranda in Miranda’s sight
Is old and gray and dirty;
Twenty-nine she was last night;
This morning she is thirty.
 
Shining like the morning star,
Like the twilight shining,
Haunted by a calendar,
Miranda is a-pining.
 
Silly girl, silver girl,
Draw the mirror toward you;
Time who makes the years to whirl
Adorned as he adored you.
 
Time is timelessness for you;
Calendars for the human;
What’s a year, or thirty, to
Loveliness made woman?
 
Oh, Night will not see thirty again,
Yet soft her wing, Miranda;
Pick up your glass and tell me, then—
How old is Spring, Miranda?

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