When I paint thee what thou might'st be,
When I think on what thou art,
Trace thine image in my memory,
Search that memory through mine heart,--
Then I feel, how widely parted
Is that other side from this:
What a gulf divides our fancy
From that unimagined bliss.

Sometimes by my side thou walkest,
Grown a stripling tall and fair,
Godlike in thine youthful beauty,
But oh not as thou art there!
All thine interests springing in thee,
Gushing toward me fresh and clear,
Fancy--drawn from things around me,
Speak not of that nobler sphere.

Day by day, and every moment
Always present, never sought,
Standing, looking, speaking, loving,
Gliding through the realms of thought,
O my child, my spirit's presence,
Dearest comfort, nearest joy,
All these nine long years where art thou,
Where, and what, mine angel boy?