I am reading The Home Maker by Dorothy Canfield Fisher published by Persephone Books and originally published in 1924. Very modern for its time it is a book about role reversal. Anyway it has this lovely fragment of poem in it. I don't know who wrote it but most of the quoted works are from Pilgrims Progress.
She wars not with the mystery
Of time and distance, night and day
The bonds of our humanity.
Her joy is like an instant joy
Of kitten, bird or summer fly.
She dances, runs without an aim;
She chatters in her ecstasy.