My Nook - Nora May French

Oh, half way up the hill it was, where one might sit leaf-hidden,

  And stare across the canyoned depths to distant miles of blue;
Upon the little path to it no foot might step unbidden.
  It was my nook, and mine alone, and not another knew.
And when my doll was sawdust, or my little hopes were fated,
  Or all my world was shaken by a little idol's fall,
Up to my dear retreat I'd climb, with grief or anger weighted,
  And, hands behind fern-pillowed head, straightway forget it all.
With tears yet damp upon my cheeks I'd fall to castle-building
  (The careless linnets fluttered near a little maid so still),
And all the gorgeous tints I knew, and all the wealth of gilding,
  Were lavished on the future that I summoned there at will.
"When one is small one finds it good to run and cry alone,
But I shall laugh to think that once I found my world so hollow—
  I shall not need this little nook," I thought, "when I am grown."
Now heart whose voice I drown by day to hear in hours of waking,
  Now eyes whose tears must burn the more because they may not flow,
From sight of face or sound of speech if I could bear your aching,
  And bury it deep-hidden in the ferns of long ago!
But oh! The pensive little ghost among her visions sitting
  Would view her weeping Future with so piteous surprise!
No, I must leave her in her nook to dream her dreams unwitting—
  I could not take my trouble there, I could not meet her eyes.

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Nora May French (1881 – 1907) USA
Source: Nora May French
"My Nook" was written at age 16