 | The Garden of Florence; and Other Poems |  |
144
TO F--- B---.
AGED THREE YEARS.
“Even so this happy creature of herself
“Is all sufficient: Solitude to her
“Is blithe society.”
Wordsworth.
“Is all sufficient: Solitude to her
“Is blithe society.”
Wordsworth.
As young and pretty as the bud
Of the strawberry in the wood;
As restless as the fawn that's there,
Playing like a thing of air,—
Chasing the wind, if there be any,—
Like these, art thou, my little Fanny!
Of the strawberry in the wood;
As restless as the fawn that's there,
Playing like a thing of air,—
Chasing the wind, if there be any,—
Like these, art thou, my little Fanny!
I look on thee, and in thy face,
The life is there of childish grace:
I see the silent thought that breaks
Into young smiles as Fancy wakes;
And newly-wing'd Intelligence,
Trying its little flights from thence.
I see a strife 'twixt Health and Beauty,
Which shall the best achieve its duty;
A gentle strife, for both contend,
But both, like bees, their labours blend.
The life is there of childish grace:
145
Into young smiles as Fancy wakes;
And newly-wing'd Intelligence,
Trying its little flights from thence.
I see a strife 'twixt Health and Beauty,
Which shall the best achieve its duty;
A gentle strife, for both contend,
But both, like bees, their labours blend.
Thy cheek by Health is rounded well,
By its hand invisible;
But sweet and rosy hues there are,
And you may trace young Beauty there.
Health made thy gentle lips to be
So glad in their own company;
So lavish of the cherry's dies,
So like the leaf, when autumn flies;—
But Beauty claims thy young blue eyes.
And oh! thy little light soft hair,
Parted on thy forehead fair,
Doth seem to take its own delight
In leaning smooth and looking bright.
Thy figure small, and tiny feet,
Dotting the carpet round us, greet
Our hearts with joy, and feed the sense
Of love for utter innocence.
By its hand invisible;
But sweet and rosy hues there are,
And you may trace young Beauty there.
Health made thy gentle lips to be
So glad in their own company;
So lavish of the cherry's dies,
So like the leaf, when autumn flies;—
But Beauty claims thy young blue eyes.
And oh! thy little light soft hair,
Parted on thy forehead fair,
146
In leaning smooth and looking bright.
Thy figure small, and tiny feet,
Dotting the carpet round us, greet
Our hearts with joy, and feed the sense
Of love for utter innocence.
These beauties, Fanny, are to thee,
As yet, unknown society;—
And so they 're a befitting dress
For thy mental prettiness;—
For thy simple thoughts, that seem
Fragments of a summer dream;—
For thy merry lips' first sayings,
For thy fancy's fairy strayings:
Thou art wiser far than many
That in years are richer, Fanny!
As yet, unknown society;—
And so they 're a befitting dress
For thy mental prettiness;—
For thy simple thoughts, that seem
Fragments of a summer dream;—
For thy merry lips' first sayings,
For thy fancy's fairy strayings:
Thou art wiser far than many
That in years are richer, Fanny!
The best of wisdom dwells with thee,
In thy white simplicity,—
In thy young imaginings,
Which float about on spotless wings;
In thy prattlings, kindly meant,
And in thy beautiful content.
Thine is the bloom of life, and we
Are jarrers in society,—
Opposers of each other's good,
Despoilers of all neighbourhood;
Prone to pain, and serious folly,
And framers of self-melancholy.
Thou dost wander light and free,
In thine own heart's company;
Making mirth, wherever chance
May lead thee in thy mazy dance:
Like the linnet wild, that weaves
Glad liberty amid the leaves.
In thy white simplicity,—
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Which float about on spotless wings;
In thy prattlings, kindly meant,
And in thy beautiful content.
Thine is the bloom of life, and we
Are jarrers in society,—
Opposers of each other's good,
Despoilers of all neighbourhood;
Prone to pain, and serious folly,
And framers of self-melancholy.
Thou dost wander light and free,
In thine own heart's company;
Making mirth, wherever chance
May lead thee in thy mazy dance:
Like the linnet wild, that weaves
Glad liberty amid the leaves.
Little copier of the lives
Of thy playmate relatives,—
Mocker of the elder ones,—
How thy wayward fancy runs,
By light from thine own laughing eyes,
Its circle of sweet mimicries.
Oft in thy little face, I find
The flitting shadows of the mind
Pass and repass, as thou dost tease
That mind with infant sophistries:—
And then, when no conclusion's near,
Thou, like a true philosopher,
Dost seek the joyous heart again,
And leave at rest the little brain.
Of thy playmate relatives,—
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How thy wayward fancy runs,
By light from thine own laughing eyes,
Its circle of sweet mimicries.
Oft in thy little face, I find
The flitting shadows of the mind
Pass and repass, as thou dost tease
That mind with infant sophistries:—
And then, when no conclusion's near,
Thou, like a true philosopher,
Dost seek the joyous heart again,
And leave at rest the little brain.
Fare thee well! I 've found in thee
Blithe and sweet society;
Merriment in drooping pain,
Pictures, given back again,
Of the pranks of childishness,
Ere I tasted of distress.
Fare thee well!—may youth be slow
To pass from thee, who wear'st it so;
For years are but the links of care,
To one so innocent and fair!
Around thee joy, within thee truth,
Thou 'rt worthy of perpetual youth;—
Worthy of that delight which lies
Within thy blue and pleasant eyes;
Worthy thy mother's fond caressing:
I owe thee, Fanny, many a blessing,
For pranks of kindliness and glee,
And words of childish charity;
For pleasures generous, light, and many,—
And therefore do I bless thee, Fanny!
Blithe and sweet society;
Merriment in drooping pain,
Pictures, given back again,
Of the pranks of childishness,
Ere I tasted of distress.
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To pass from thee, who wear'st it so;
For years are but the links of care,
To one so innocent and fair!
Around thee joy, within thee truth,
Thou 'rt worthy of perpetual youth;—
Worthy of that delight which lies
Within thy blue and pleasant eyes;
Worthy thy mother's fond caressing:
I owe thee, Fanny, many a blessing,
For pranks of kindliness and glee,
And words of childish charity;
For pleasures generous, light, and many,—
And therefore do I bless thee, Fanny!
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