O THOU bright image of exulting life!
Thou thing of joy; that boundest from the earth
With an elastic spring, as if at strife
With thine own happiness, as if the air,
That tosses in its sport thy golden hair,
And the glad sun, had quickened thee to birth;
As if great Nature had infused in thee
The feeling of her immortality.
Thou fairy phantom, dancing in my sight,
On whom the beauty of thy childhood throws
A visible glory! thou that in the light
Of thy own being walk'st, and dost impart
Joys that no tongue can tell! I gaze and bless
Even while I watch thee, child! with my full heart,
That with a father's holiest love o'erflows,
Till mine eyes dim with grief and happiness,
And thankfulness that trembles into fear.
Can the rich leaves of that young floweret sear?
Alas! whate'er from past or future grow,
Brightening or dark with storm, I shall not hear.
Thou enterest life's gates as I depart;
I sleep, thou wakest, and wilt never know
The idolatry of love I poured on thee!
And when, hereafter, in the opening rose
Of thy young life, when others, it may be,
Faintly the love I felt for thee disclose,
Or whisper something of the poet's fame,
Then shalt thou sigh—‘I knew him but by name!’