Peggy Mitchell

As lily grows up easily,
In modest, gentle dignity
To sweet perfection,
So grew she,
As easily.

Or as the rose that takes no care
Will open out on sunny air
Bloom after bloom, fair after fair,
Sweet after sweet ;
Just so did she,
As carelessly.

She is our torment without end,
She is our enemy and friend,
Our joy, our woe ;
Madness or glee
To you and me,
And endlessly.