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A New England Girlhood, Outlined from Memory (Beverly, MA)
·
Lucy Larcom
140
I
wrote
more
rhymes
than
anything
else,
because
they
came
more
easily.
But
I
always
felt
that
the
ability
to
write
good
prose
was
far
more
desirable,
and
it
seems
so
to
me
still.
I
will
give
my
little
girl
readers
a
single
specimen
of
my
twelve-year-old
"Diving
Bell"
verses,
though
I
feel
as
if
I
ought
to
apologize
even
for
that.
It
is
on
a
common
subject,
"Life
like
a
Rose":--
"Childhood's
like
a
tender
bud
That's
scarce
been
formed
an
hour,
But
which
erelong
will
doubtless
be
A
bright
and
lovely
flower.
"And
youth
is
like
a
full-blown
rose
Which
has
not
known
decay;
But
which
must
soon,
alas!
too
soon!
Wither
and
fade
away.
"And
age
is
like
a
withered
rose,
That
bends
beneath
the
blast;
But
though
its
beauty
all
is
gone,
Its
fragrance
yet
may
last."
This,
and
other
verses
that
I
wrote
then,
serve
to
illustrate
the
child's
usual
inclination
to
look
forward
meditatively,
rather
than
to
think
and
write
of
the
simple
things
that
belong
to
children.
Our
small
venture
set
some
of
us
imagining
what
larger
possibilities
might
be
before
us
in
the
far
future.
We
talked
over
the
things
we
should
like
to
do
when
we
should
be
women
out
in
the
active
world;
and
the
author
of
the
shoe-story
horrified
us
by
declaring
that
she
meant
to
be
distinguished
when
she
grew
up
for
something,
even
if
it
was
for
something
bad!
She
did
go
so
far
in
a
bad
way
as
to
plagiarize
a
long
poem
in
a
subsequent
number
of
the
"Diving
Bell"
but
the
editor
found
her
out,
and
we
all
thought
that
a
reproof
from
Emilie
was
sufficient
punishment.
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