Some day, my child, in poet's tenderest strain,
You may perchance be heard divinely singing;
The attar of an ecstasy or pain,
In passioned sweetness flinging;
Some day.
Some day, it may be, hot wild tears will flow
And show how tempests tear the rose to blowing;
And what you sighed in radiant spring to know,
Will pierce your heart with knowing;
Some day.
Some day, oh, child! as one who fain would rest,
You may await death's peaceful tide inflowing,
And float, with heavenly lilies on your breast,
To heavenly lilies growing.
Some day.