IX.

Unchildlike shade! No other babe doth wear An aspect very sorrowful, as Thou. No small babe-smiles my watching heart has seen To float like speech the speechless lips between, No dovelike cooing in the golden air, No quick short joys of leaping babyhood. Alas, our earthly good In heaven thought evil, seems too good for Thee; Yet, sleep, my weary One!