Sleeping Child How innocent, how beautiful thy sleep! Sweet one, 'tis peace and joy to gaze on thee! Thy summer sports, thy cloudless gaiety, Are hush'd in slumber; but there lingers still A smile upon thy lips, like the young day, Flinging its sunlight o'er the half-blown rose; Thy laughing eyes are clos'd, while the dark lash Rests on thy dimpled cheek, where health has shed Its liveliest carnation; unconfin'd, Like golden clusters, shadowing thy face, Thy chesnut curls twine round thy little arm, Half hidden by the violets, which breathe Their fragrance o'er thy head; thy snowy brow Is clear and open as a shadeless sky: There are no records there to tell of griefs, That came like blights in spring, or winter storms Of tortured feelings, withering cares and joys, Whose end was bitterness; but here are found Pure innocence and love, and happiness. |
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