Nor colour nor wordy
Weak song can declare
The stature how sturdy,
How stalwart his air.
As a king in his bright
Presence-chamber may be,
So seems he in height--
Twice higher than your knee.
As a warrior sedate
With reserve of his power,
So seems he in state--
As tall as a flower:
As a rose overtowering
The ranks of the rest
That beneath it lie cowering,
Less bright than their best.
And his hands are as sunny
As ruddy ripe corn
Or the browner-hued honey
From heather-bells borne.
When summer sits proudest,
Fulfilled with its mirth,
And rapture is loudest
In air and on earth,
The suns of all hours
That have ripened the roots
Bring forth not such flowers
And beget not such fruits.
And well though I know it,
As fain would I write,
Child, never a poet
Could praise you aright.
I bless you? the blessing
Were less than a jest
Too poor for expressing;
I come to be blest,
With humble and dutiful
Heart, from above:
Bless me, O my beautiful
Innocent love!
This rhyme in your praise
With a smile was begun;
But the goal of his ways
Is uncovered to none,
Nor pervious till after
The limit impend;
It is not in laughter
These rhymes of you end.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25