She was a phantom of delight
When first she gleam’d upon my sight;
A lovely apparition, sent
To be a moment’s ornament;
Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;
Like twilight’s, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn
From Maytime and the cheerful dawn;
A dancing shape, an image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and waylay.
I settle down into a leather armchair and broaden my shoulders. I pat my hair to check for lumps, not that I care. This year, mum was very enthusiastic that I would have a good school photo. By enthusiastic, I mean that she was fussing over my hair every five minutes, and that she gave…
