How he sleepeth! having drunke
Weary childhood's mandragore
From his pretty eyes have sunke
Pleasures, to make room for more--
Sleeping near the withered nosegay, which he pulled the day before
Nosegays! leave them for the waking
Throw them earthward where they grew
Dim are such, beside the breakin
Amaranths he looks unto--
Folded eyes see brighter colours than the open ever do
Heaven-flowers, rayed by shadows golde
From the paths they sprang beneath
Now perhaps divinely holden
Swing against him in a wreath--
We may think so from the quickening of his bloom and of his breath
Vision unto vision calleth
While the young child dreameth on
Fair, O dreamer, thee befallet
With the glory thou hast won
Darker wert thou in the garden, yestermorn, by summer sun
We should see the spirits ringin
Round thee,---were the clouds away
'Tis the child-heart draws them, singin
In the silent-seeming clay--
Singing!---Stars that seem the mutest, go in music all the way
As the moths around a taper
As the bees around a rose
As the gnats around a vapour,--
So the Spirits group and clos
Round about a holy childhood, as if drinking its repose
Shapes of brightness overlean thee,--
Flash their diadems of yout
On the ringlets which half screen thee,--
While thou smilest, . . . not in soot
Thy smile . . . but the overfair one, dropt from some aethereal mouth
Haply it is angels' duty
During slumber, shade by shade
To fine down this childish beaut
To the thing it must be made
Ere the world shall bring it praises, or the tomb shall see it fade
Softly, softly! make no noises
Now he lieth dead and dumb--
Now he hears the angels' voice
Folding silence in the room--
Now he muses deep the meaning of the Heaven-words as they come
Speak not! he is consecrated--
Breathe no breath across his eyes
Lifted up and separated
On the hand of God he lies
In a sweetness beyond touching---held in cloistral sanctities
Could ye bless him---father---mother
Bless the dimple in his cheek
Dare ye look at one another
And the benediction speak
Would ye not break out in weeping, and confess yourselves too weak
He is harmless---ye are sinful,--
Ye are troubled---he, at ease
From his slumber, virtue winfu
Floweth outward with increase--
Dare not bless him! but be blessed by his peace---and go in peace
