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Loop up her tresses
Who was her father?
Alas! for the rarity
The bleak wind of March
Mad from life's history,
In she plunged boldly, No matter how coldly The rough river ran,Over the brink of it, Picture it-think of it, Dissolute Man ! Lave in it, drink of it, Then, if you can ! Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care ; Fashioned so slenderly, Young, and so fair! Ere her limbs frigidly Stiffen too rigidly, Decently,-kindly,Smooth, and compose them; And her eyes, close them, Staring so blindly! Dreadfully staring Thro’ muddy impurity, As when with the daring Last look of despairing Fix'd on futurity.
Owning her weakness,
À PARENTAL ODE TO MY SON, AGED THREE YEARS AND
Thou happy, happy elf!
Thou tiny image of myself !
Thou merry, laughing sprite!
With spirits feather-light,
Thou little tricksy Puck!
Thou darling of thy sire !
Thou imp of mirth and joy!
There goes my ink !)
Thou cherub—but of earth;
In harmless sport and mirth,
Thou human humming-bee extracting honey
Singing in Youth's Elysium ever sunriy,
Thy father's pride and hope ! (He'll break the mirror with that skipping-rope !) With pure heart newly stamped from Nature's mint (Where did he learn that squint?)
Thou young domestic dove !
Dear nurseling of the hymeneal nest!
Little epitome of man! (He'll climb upon the table, that's his plan!) Touched with the beauteous tints of dawning life
(He's got a knife!)
Thou enviable being ! No storms, no clouds, in thy blue sky foreseeing,
Play on, play on,
My elfin John!
With many a lamb-like frisk,
Thou pretty opening rose! (Go to your mother, child, and wipe your nose !) Balmy, and breathing music like the South, (He really brings my heart into my mouth !) Fresh as the morn, and brilliant as its star,(I wish that window had an iron bar!) Bold as the hawk, yet gentle as the dove,
(I tell you what, my love, I cannot write, unless he's sent above !)
We watched her breathing thro' the night,
Her breathing soft and low,
Kept heaving to and fro.
So silently we seemed to speak,
So slowly moved about,
To eke her living out.
Our very hopes belied our fears,
Our fears our hopes belied-
And sleeping when she died.
For when the morn came dim and sed:
And chill with early showers, Ker quiet eyelids closed-she had
Another morn than ourz.