University of Virginia Library


49

TO LITTLE A. C. IN THE GARDEN AT EASTBURY.

Come, my beauty, come, my bird;
We two will wander, and no third
Shall mar that sweetest solitude
Of a garden and a child,
When the fresh elms are first in bud,
And western winds blow mild.
Clasp that short-reaching arm about a neck
Stript of a deeper love's more close embrace,
And with the softness of thy baby-cheek
Press roses on a care-distained face.
What? set thee down, because the air
Ruffles too boldly thy brown hair?
Walk then, and as thy tiny boot
Presses the greenness of the sod,
Teach me to see that tottering foot
Uplifted and set down by God;
Teach me a stronger, tenderer hand than mine
Sways every motion of thy infant frame;
Bid me take hold, like thee, and not repine,—
Weak with my errors and deserved shame.

50

How? home again? ah, that soft laughter
Tells me what voice thou hankerest after.
Run, run, with that bright shining face,
And little hands stretched forth apart,
Into a mother's fond embrace,
Close, closer to her heart.
I too will turn, for I discern a voice
Which whispers me that I am far from home;
Bids me repent, and led by holier choice
Back to a Father's open bosom come.