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To E. J. H.
THEY bid me sing to thee, | |
| Thou golden-haired and silver-voicëd child | |
| With lips by no worse sigh than sleep’s defiled— | |
| With eyes unknowing how tears dim the sight, | |
| And feet all trembling at the new delight | 5 |
| Treaders of earth to be! | |
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| Ah no! the lark may bring | |
| A song to thee from out the morning cloud, | |
| The merry river from its lilies bowed, | |
| The brisk rain from the trees, the lucky wind | 10 |
| That half doth make its music, half doth find,— | |
| But I—I may not sing. | |
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| How could I think it right, | |
| New-comer on our earth as, Sweet, thou art, | |
| To bring a verse from out an human heart | 15 |
| Made heavy with accumulated tears, | |
| And cross with such amount of weary years | |
| Thy day-sum of delight? | |
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| Even if the verse were said, | |
| Thou, who wouldst clap thy tiny hands to hear | 20 |
| The wind or rain, gay bird or river clear, | |
| Wouldst, at that sound of sad humanities, | |
| Upturn thy bright uncomprehending eyes | |
| And bid me play instead. | |
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| Therefore no song of mine,— | 25 |
| But prayer in place of singing; prayer that would | |
| Commend thee to the new-creating God | |
| Whose gift is childhood’s heart without its stain | |
| Of weakness, ignorance, and changing vain— | |
| That gift of God be thine! | 30 |
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| So wilt thou aye be young, | |
| In lovelier childhood than thy shining brow | |
| And pretty winning accents make thee now: | |
| Yea, sweeter than this scarce articulate sound | |
| (How sweet!) of “father,” “mother,” shall be found | 35 |
| The ABBA on thy tongue. | |
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| And so, as years shall chase | |
| Each other’s shadows, thou wilt less resemble | |
| Thy fellows of the earth who toil and tremble, | |
| Than him thou seëst not, thine angel bold | 40 |
| Yet meek, whose ever-lifted eyes behold | |
| The Ever-loving’s face. | |
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