What care I for thy carelessness? And live in the dear woods where my Thy spirit cannot sound or know. lost childhood played. Far lingering on a distant dawn THEN. My triumph shines, more sweet than late; When from these mortal mists withdrawn, I GIVE thee treasures hour by hour, wait. Then sing in the hedgerow green, O And in the open cottage door My pretty babe was playing. Aslant the sill a sunbeam lay: I laughed in careless pleasure, To see his little hand essay To grasp the shining treasure. To-day no shafts of golden flame Across the sill are lying; To-day I call my baby's name, And hear no lisped replying; To-dayah, baby mine, to-day God holds thee in his keeping! And yet I weep, as one pale ray Breaks in upon thy sleepingI weep to see its shining bands Reach, with a fond endeavor, To where the little restless hands Are crossed in rest forever! Beside repentance, what canst 'T were an ill world, I'll swear, for find That it hath left behind? But his past life, who without grief can see, Who never thinks his end too near, every friend, If distance could their union end: But love itself does far advance Above the power of time and spare, It scorns such outward circumstance, His time's forever, everywhere, his place. |