Fifteen years have come and gone,
Maiden since thy large, brown eyes
Opened first and looked upon
Wintry English skies.

Fifteen treasure ships they were,
Sailing on life's sunlit sea,
Bearing frankincense and myrrh
Sent from heaven to thee:

Fifteen pilgrims, old and gray,
Mounted upon moments fleet,
Who have seen thee but to lay
Pleasure at thy feet:

Fifteen maids who, like a queen,
Decked thee, Sweet, with beauty rare,
Till the world hath never seen
Maiden half so fair.

And a sixteenth year to-day
Brings a wreath of budding hours,
Saying: "Let not one decay;
All must grow to flowers."

All have not the self-same needs;
Loving smiles are life to some,
Others but by kindly deeds.
To perfection come.