Emily Guiles writes about wanting to be beautiful and feeling certain she never will be. The speaker lists what she longs for: scarlet lips, high cheeks, a straight nose, thick hair, glistening eyes and silky skin from head to toe. Each wish is specific, as if she has studied beauty closely and measured herself against it. Even the opening wish to be "as stone" suggests she wants to stay perfect and never age.
The ending changes the tone. She calls herself "like a troll" and then asks how she could even wish to be gorgeous when she isn't "even pretty at all." The longing turns into self-criticism, and she seems to think she has no right to hope for more. The repeated "I wish, I wish" sounds almost like a child's plea. The mood is wistful and vulnerable, and it ends on a sting of self-doubt rather than comfort.