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136

TO AN INFANT OF DAYS

No foot hast thou for frolic or for speed,
No brain to plan for conquest or for need;
No hand to work Man's miracles of skill,
Nor wise discernment, parting good from ill.
Yet none can say how high thy strength shall lift,
How wondrous and beneficent thy gift.
O grant, mysterious Powers, that this may prove
A riddle of fair omen, writ in love!