 | In memory of W. V.: William Canton |  |
188
THE LOOK
Beside the fire he sits between my feet,
And, snuggling, feels how winter can be sweet.
Then leaning back—such love in his clear eyes!—
“You look at me a little bit!” he cries.
“I have been looking, dear!” “You look again!”
And, snuggling, feels how winter can be sweet.
Then leaning back—such love in his clear eyes!—
“You look at me a little bit!” he cries.
“I have been looking, dear!” “You look again!”
O least importunate of tiny men,
Have eyes such power? Can such a trifling thing
So lift up your fond heart upon the wing?
Yet I that know Whose eyes upon me brood
Have never felt this child's beatitude.
Have eyes such power? Can such a trifling thing
So lift up your fond heart upon the wing?
Yet I that know Whose eyes upon me brood
Have never felt this child's beatitude.
| In memory of W. V.: William Canton | |