University of Virginia Library

Couch'd on flowers in greenwood wild
Here I watch my favourite Child:
Playmate meet for kindred flowers:
Nursling of the bounteous hours.
Lily-robed in vesture white,
Save where silken ribbon blue
Spans the tender waist, while thro'
Softly traced in wavering light
Her sweet limbs' faint outline gleams,
And the white frock whiter seems.
I can watch her, crouching still:
I can watch her at my will:
Head aside in steady gazing,
Eyes their earnest lids upraising:
Sunny locks, that o'er the forehead
O'er the fair soft-rounded cheek
Trace the tender cloud of shadow,
Playful curve, and pearly streak:
Parted lips, and even breathing—
Sweet, as mists at morn upwreathing,
In Anthemöé's valleys, where
'Neath the ash Iánthé fair
Softly smooths her odorous hair;
While her azure eyes are bent
On their native firmament.—
—But O fairer flower mine,
Why thy little hands entwine
Thus 'gainst thy sweet bosom prest?
Why this long, unwonted rest?
Why these mute inquiring gazes?
What fancy lodges in thy breast?
What is't my little one amazes?
My favourite child?

'Twas nought, she cried, 'twas nought, and smiled,
Then lightly sprang beneath the tree,
And smooth'd her hair, and clasp'd my knee,
And pray'd I would a tale unfold her:
Some fairy tale, I ne'er had told her:
Some fairy tale, the hours beguiling:
And smiled till I gave back her smiling:
And smiled again, in pride to see
The smile that spoke her victory!
—A happy cry!—a shout of pleasure!
—‘A book—a book—what's this’—
And I gave utterance to my thought:
‘There's nothing gain'd on earth for nought:
For thee the fairy tales I brought—
For thee the book, my little one—
And then for me, the kiss.’
—I gazed on her: I spoke: she heard:
But yet nor look'd, nor spoke, nor stirrd',
For all her downcast eyes were bent
On that book's gay emblazonment:
The silk-wove azure that encased it:
The golden fret-work that enchased it:—
And then on mine the baby maid
Her wishful fingers gently laid,
And raised her eyes in soft request—
Yet firm I grasp'd it in my hand:
I would or could not understand,
Such wandering thoughts my brain possesst.
—For I in vain that morn had sought
To reperuse the book I brought:
I could not re-awake the spell,
The young enchantment loved so well:—
And now ‘'Tis so—'tis so’—I said—
‘The fresh delight of youth is fled!
Else why this day that vain endeavour
To conjure back the lost for ever—
Once more a child to ride right on
Thro' Fairyland and Avalon—
Enmail'd in gold 'mong Arthur's knights,
Or nursed 'mid genii and 'mid sprites?
It is indeed a vain endeavour
To conjure back the lost for ever—
To those alone the tales are dear
Who are themselves the things they hear:
Who claim with sprite and angel kin,
As fair without—as pure within:
And prove descent of fairy race
By sweet capriciousness of grace.—
—Look, darling, look'—I spoke: she heard:
And yet nor look'd, nor spoke, nor stirr'd:—
As violet cups by dew-drops bent,
Her head was o'er the treasure leant:
Her bright young head lay pillow'd there,
Her warm tears on my hand,
And all abandon'd to despair
In thousand waves entangled were
The sunny mazes of her hair.

—O sweet Childhood!—all forgiving!—
‘What ails her then, my child,’ I said:—
O quick she raised the downcast head,
And quick her earnest eyes upraised
Half way set 'twixt smile and tear—
And on my eyes once more she gazed,
And half put off her fear:—
—Yet again, as tho' afraid,
On my hand her hands she laid,
And spread the timid palms above:—
And in my hand her hands she laid,
And look'd a wishful look, and said
Some gentle words, some lispéd love,
And was re-comforted.
O sweet Childhood!—all forgiving!
All thy sweetness freely giving—
Trustful words and loving smiles—
Natural tears and artless wiles—
Weakness—sorrow—joy—caress—
Lavish'd in the large excess
Of thine all-confidingness!

—I touch'd the glowing cheek,—and then
Sunny smiles broke forth again:
I laid the treasure in her grasp;
And while her hands the leaves unclasp,
My heart gave back her happy smiling,
With thoughts of her my thoughts beguiling—
Till sweet sleep took me by the hand
And led me back to Fairyland:—
I knew the flowers: I knew the meads:
—I knew that jocund throng:
I drank the large purpureal air:
The golden harps twang'd shrill and sweet:
But yet a chain was on my feet,
Spell-bound and rooted there.
When gliding from the jocund throng
An angel child was at my side—
A Fairy Fair—a gracious sight—
And smiled a smile of rosy light,—
And trill'd the burden of the song,
The festive chorus echoing wide—
And took my hand, and led me in
Within the fairy ring:—
And bade the harps renew their strain,
And bade me hold me by her side,
And be a child again.—

Round my sleep-entrancèd head
Gushing notes of mirth are breaking:—
Fled the dream—the vision fled—
Happy dream—but happier waking!—
O sight of joy assured—I see
The little wonderer at my knee—
—Is she the Vision robed in light—
The Fairy Fair—the gracious sight:
The angel child, that loosed the chain,
And bade me be a child again?—
—Look up! look up! those smiles I know:
Those earnest eyes—'tis so! 'tis so!—
Thy hands the pictured leaves turn o'er:
The fairy tale delights once more—
That wonder-land once more I see—
Once more am I a child in Thee.
—Thy smiles o'erprice the gift I gave thee,—
Yet still one last reward I crave thee.

—Come! hands in hands!—'tis done with ease,—
One buoyant spring from bended knees—
One trustful leap:—my arms surround thee—
A second sash to fold around thee:—
Thy broken words thy thanks express:
Thy reverential tenderness:
Thy young heart guileless of pretence,
The love-for-love of Innocence!
Thy flutter'd breath thy joy confesses—
Repay me with thy pure caresses:
Around my neck one little arm—
The fond young lips prest close and warm:—
—My darling heart to heart I fold,
—My happier Vision I behold:—
The white soft frock—the sash of blue—
The edging lace—the tiny shoe;
The sock turn'd down—the ancle fine—
The wavy folds—the bosom line:
The grass-stain'd impress of thy knee—
The flounce torn out in greenwood glee:—
Each accident of childly dress
Partaking thy sweet sacredness:—
Ah far past Fairy counterfeiture
This very child—this gracious Creature;—
The quick warm breath: the heaving breast:
The tender weight against me prest:
The fair fine limbs—the soft—the pure—
All maidenhood in miniature:
The soul incorporate in the frame:
As fair, as bright, as pure from shame:
The sweet frail thing that wept and smiled—
The more than Angel in the Child.