The Girl
With that naivete or innocence
Which we unlearned in learning how to live
She tediously labors to arrive.
If she knew how to recognize offense,
We'd call her thoughtless boldness confidence
(so young blade, branch, and blossom enter here.)

The Young Lady
Flexing her newfound beauty at her suitors
She is high-water-mark of excellence:
Her eyes plumb fathoms and her hair is dense.
Though time and prudence barr her from all futures
No arguments of reason can refute hers
(so greenwood swells, and sky and stream run clear.)

The Matron
Content to watch her early efforts fade,
She stays at home to govern her estate.
Her fruitfulness is cause to celebrate:
Her children and grandchildren, unafraid,
Play at the table that her husband made
(so does all sowing reach its festive end.)

The Hag
Stiff in the joints and dark of mind and vein
She idly lies, complaining she is cold.
She hasn't strength to fight as days unfold
The origami of memories that remain.
What mercy failed recollection numbs our pain!
(So ice and bare branch summery days append.)