Poems By Frederick William Faber: Third edition |
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XLVIII. | XLVIII.TO A LITTLE BOY. |
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Poems | ||
XLVIII.TO A LITTLE BOY.
Dear Little One, and can thy mother findIn those soft lineaments, that move so free
To smiles or tears, as holiest infancy
About thy heart its glorious web doth wind,
A faithful likeness of my sterner mind?
Ah! then there must be times unknown to me
When my lost boyhood, like a wandering air,
Comes for a while to pass upon my face,
Giving me back the dear familiar grace
O'er which my mother poured her last fond prayer.
But sin and age will rob me of this power,
Though now my heart, like an uneasy lake,
Some broken images at times may take
From forms which fade more sadly every hour!
Poems | ||