 | Three Hundred Sonnets |  |
37
BLINDNESS.
O pitiful! to watch those precious eyes,Those kindled diamonds with their sunny light,
Changing from orbs of day to orbs of night,—
Dimming to pearls!—for Providence most wise
So hath decreed of thee, my poor pale child;
And we shall see thy face, so soft and mild,
Looking up blank and sightless to the skies!
Well,—we will love thee more, and be more kind,
Cheer thee in heart, and cherish thee in mind;
And gentle music shall delight thee much,
And Memory with her pictures,—and Content,—
And,—who can tell? for we have heard of such,—
Art yet may reach thee with her healing touch,
And bring those eyes again from banishment.
| Three Hundred Sonnets | |