I would that thou might'st ever be That time might ever leave as free I would life were all poetry That naught but chastened melody Nor one discordant note be spoken, I would--but deeper things than these "Her lot is on thee," lovely child— I fear thy gentle loveliness, The silver stars may purely shine, The waters taintless flow: But they who kneel at woman's shrine Peace may fling back the gift again, But the crushed flower will leave a stain. What shall preserve thee, beautiful child? The world is but a broken reed, And life grows early dim- He who himself was "undefiled?" With Him we trust thee, beautiful child! Nathaniel Parker Willis [1806-1867] TO MY DAUGHTER DEAR Fanny! nine long years ago, Whilst lowed the newly-wakened herds- I heard those first, delightful words, Along with that uprising dew Tears glistened in my eyes, though few, To hail a dawning quite as new To me, as Time: It was not sorrow-not annoy But like a happy maid, though coy, So may'st thou live, dear! many years, Not without smiles, nor yet from tears Too strictly kept. When first thy infant littleness I folded in my fond caress, The greatest proof of happiness Was this-I wept. Thomas Hood (1799-1845] The Picture of Little T. C. TO CHARLOTTE PULTENEY TIMELY blossom, Infant fair, Yet too innocent to blush; And thou shalt in thy daughter see, This picture, once, resembled thee. 261 Ambrose Philips [1675?-1749] THE PICTURE OF LITTLE T. C. IN A SEE with what simplicity This nymph begins her golden days! The wilder flowers, and gives them names; But only with the roses plays, And them does tell What color best becomes them, and what smell. Who can foretell for what high cause Appease this virtuous enemy of man! O then let me in time compound Where I may see the glories from some shade. Meantime, whilst every verdant thing Reform the errors of the Spring; Make that the tulips may have share That violets may a longer age endure. But O young beauty of the woods, Whom Nature courts with fruits and flowers, Lest Flora, angry at thy crime To kill her infants in their prime, Do quickly make the example yours; And, ere we see, Nip, in the blossom, all our hopes and thee. Andrew Marvell [1621-1678] To Hartley Coleridge 263 TO HARTLEY COLERIDGE SIX YEARS OLD O THOU! whose fancies from afar are brought: The breeze-like motion and the self-born carol; In such clear water, that thy boat May rather seem To brood on air than on an earthly stream; Suspended in a stream as clear as sky, Where earth and heaven do make one imagery: O blessed vision! happy child! Thou art so exquisitely wild, I think of thee with many fears For what may be thy lot in future years. I thought of times when Pain might be thy guest, Lord of thy house and hospitality; And Grief, uneasy lover! never rest But when she sate within the touch of thee. O too industrious folly! O vain and causeless melancholy! Nature will either end thee quite; Or, lengthening out thy season of delight, Preserve for thee, by individual right, A young lamb's heart among the full-grown flocks. Or the injuries of to-morrow? Thou art a dew-drop, which the morn brings forth, Ill-fitted to sustain unkindly shocks, Or to be trailed along the soiling earth; A gem that glitters while it lives, And no forewarning gives; But, at the touch of wrong, without a strife, Slips in a moment out of life. William Wordsworth [1770-1850] |