Inscribed to a dear Child:in memory of golden summer hoursand whispers of a summer sea.Girt with a boyish garb for boyish task,Eager she wields her spade: yet loves as wellRest on a friendly knee, intent to askThe tale he loves to tell.Rude spirits of the seething outer strife,Unmeet to read her pure and simple spright,Deem, if you list, such hours a waste of life,Empty of all delight!Chat on, sweet Maid, and rescue from annoyHearts that by wiser talk are unbeguiled.Ah, happy he who owns that tenderest joy,The heart-love of a child!Away, fond thoughts, and vex my soul no more!Work claims my wakeful nights, my busy days—Albeit bright memories of that sunlit shoreYet haunt my dreaming gaze!
Inscribed to a dear Child:in memory of golden summer hoursand whispers of a summer sea.
Girt with a boyish garb for boyish task,Eager she wields her spade: yet loves as wellRest on a friendly knee, intent to askThe tale he loves to tell.
Rude spirits of the seething outer strife,Unmeet to read her pure and simple spright,Deem, if you list, such hours a waste of life,Empty of all delight!
Chat on, sweet Maid, and rescue from annoyHearts that by wiser talk are unbeguiled.Ah, happy he who owns that tenderest joy,The heart-love of a child!
Away, fond thoughts, and vex my soul no more!Work claims my wakeful nights, my busy days—Albeit bright memories of that sunlit shoreYet haunt my dreaming gaze!