Like as a sweet child near the moving sea,
Bends downward on his frail new world of sand,
Happy if but within his walls may be,
Ever so little sky or ocean-strand,
Enough to move the heart to tuneful joy,—
So we the children of a larger build
May note with no unkindly smile, the boy
Who with imagination life can gild
So clear and fair since all unknown is death.
Yet startled we ourselves become with bliss
When Love is heard to breathe this sweetest breath,
'Brim full ye loved ones be of happy kiss
Ere Spring pass by,' but pitiless the wave,
My Love, that makes of children's joys a grave.