 | Lyrical Poems |  |
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RECOLLECTIONS OF CHILDHOOD
I love the gracious littleness
Of Childhood's fancied reign:
The narrow chambers and the nooks
That all its world contain:
The fairy landscapes on the walls
And half-imagined faces:
The stairs from thoughtless steps fenced off,
The landing loved for races:
—By stranger feet the floors are trod
That still in thought I see:
But the golden days of Childhood
May not return to me.
Of Childhood's fancied reign:
The narrow chambers and the nooks
That all its world contain:
The fairy landscapes on the walls
And half-imagined faces:
The stairs from thoughtless steps fenced off,
The landing loved for races:
—By stranger feet the floors are trod
That still in thought I see:
But the golden days of Childhood
May not return to me.
I love the little room where first
On infant reason broke
The knowledge we had seen before
The place in which we woke:
Where first we link'd a happy eve
To an all-sunny morning,
Nor in that rigid chain of time
Read any note of warning.
Why are the years together forged
And bound by Fate's decree,
If the golden days of Childhood
May not return to me?
On infant reason broke
The knowledge we had seen before
The place in which we woke:
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To an all-sunny morning,
Nor in that rigid chain of time
Read any note of warning.
Why are the years together forged
And bound by Fate's decree,
If the golden days of Childhood
May not return to me?
I love the broken plaything ghosts
That once were living joys:
Th' extemporized delight we snatch'd
From toys that were not toys:
The hands that nursed our infant limbs,
And bade us ‘sleep in clover’;
The lips we shall not kiss again
That kiss'd us oft and over:—
These relics of the past I prize,
Though faint and rare they be:
For the vanish'd days of Childhood
May not return to me.
That once were living joys:
Th' extemporized delight we snatch'd
From toys that were not toys:
The hands that nursed our infant limbs,
And bade us ‘sleep in clover’;
The lips we shall not kiss again
That kiss'd us oft and over:—
These relics of the past I prize,
Though faint and rare they be:
For the vanish'd days of Childhood
May not return to me.
I love the swing that shook between
The jaw-bones of the whale:
The hollow rocking garden-boat
Fit haunt for feast and tale:
The mat-roof'd cabin where we crouch'd
And scorn'd the storm together:
Th' initials flourish'd on the beech
To tell our loves for ever:
That half we wish'd and half we fear'd
Another's eyes might see:—
—Ah, that the days of Childhood
May ne'er return to me!
The jaw-bones of the whale:
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Fit haunt for feast and tale:
The mat-roof'd cabin where we crouch'd
And scorn'd the storm together:
Th' initials flourish'd on the beech
To tell our loves for ever:
That half we wish'd and half we fear'd
Another's eyes might see:—
—Ah, that the days of Childhood
May ne'er return to me!
I love the lawn—the scene of high
Hellenic bulrush fights:
Where Homer's heroes, known through Pope,
Gave names to childly knights:
Where after-life was shadow'd out
In feats of happy daring,
Till each went off the field with joy
The victor-trophies sharing:
To count the shatter'd darts that lay,
The dints that scarr'd the tree—
—Ah, that the days of Childhood
May ne'er return to me!
Hellenic bulrush fights:
Where Homer's heroes, known through Pope,
Gave names to childly knights:
Where after-life was shadow'd out
In feats of happy daring,
Till each went off the field with joy
The victor-trophies sharing:
To count the shatter'd darts that lay,
The dints that scarr'd the tree—
—Ah, that the days of Childhood
May ne'er return to me!
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I love the palaces we built,
The fancied brick or stone:
The forts for happy snowball siege,
And conquest lightly won:—
The mimic puppet shows we framed
To act some Shakespeare story,
Where Rome and Forres were set forth,
And Caesar fell in glory:
Where all was false and all was true
The moment might decree.—
—Ah, that the days of Childhood
May ne'er return to me!
The fancied brick or stone:
The forts for happy snowball siege,
And conquest lightly won:—
The mimic puppet shows we framed
To act some Shakespeare story,
Where Rome and Forres were set forth,
And Caesar fell in glory:
Where all was false and all was true
The moment might decree.—
—Ah, that the days of Childhood
May ne'er return to me!
I love the foolish words—that love
Recorded as they fell:
The very faults that then we wept,
The follies prized too well:—
Alas for loss that Time has wrought:
For joys, from grief that borrow;
For sorrows that we cannot weep,
And sins that bring no sorrow!
Where is that unremorseful woe,
That unreflecting glee?—
Alas! the days of Childhood
May ne'er return to me.
Recorded as they fell:
The very faults that then we wept,
The follies prized too well:—
Alas for loss that Time has wrought:
For joys, from grief that borrow;
For sorrows that we cannot weep,
And sins that bring no sorrow!
Where is that unremorseful woe,
That unreflecting glee?—
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May ne'er return to me.
I love the timid soul that blush'd
Before an elder's look:
Yet from its equals in the game
No tyranny could brook:—
That spoke undaunted truth, no veils
Of Custom interposing:
Nor fear'd its weakness and its strength
To open hearts disclosing.
I love the very strife that left
Our souls for love more free:
For the truthful days of Childhood
May ne'er return to me.
Before an elder's look:
Yet from its equals in the game
No tyranny could brook:—
That spoke undaunted truth, no veils
Of Custom interposing:
Nor fear'd its weakness and its strength
To open hearts disclosing.
I love the very strife that left
Our souls for love more free:
For the truthful days of Childhood
May ne'er return to me.
—Alas for hands that then we clasp'd;
For merry tripping feet;
For daily thoughtless welcomings,
And partings but to meet!
The shout, the song, the leap, the race:
The light of happy faces:
The voice, the eyes of vanish'd love;
The youthful fond embraces.
—I hoard the thought of things that were,
And ne'er again shall be:
For the loving days of Childhood
May not return to me.
For merry tripping feet;
For daily thoughtless welcomings,
And partings but to meet!
The shout, the song, the leap, the race:
The light of happy faces:
The voice, the eyes of vanish'd love;
The youthful fond embraces.
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And ne'er again shall be:
For the loving days of Childhood
May not return to me.
—But O blithe little ones—that dance,
And bid me join your play:
How can I share your blessedness?
How can I turn away?—
Your's are the gleam of azure eyes,
The light of happy faces:—
The hurried breath of eager joy,
The proffer'd pure embraces:—
What can I then but take the gift,
The love you lavish free?—
—In you the days of Childhood
May yet return to me.
And bid me join your play:
How can I share your blessedness?
How can I turn away?—
Your's are the gleam of azure eyes,
The light of happy faces:—
The hurried breath of eager joy,
The proffer'd pure embraces:—
What can I then but take the gift,
The love you lavish free?—
—In you the days of Childhood
May yet return to me.
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