Inscribed to a dear Child:
in memory of golden summer hours
and whispers of a summer sea.
- Girt with a boyish garb for boyish task
- Eager she wields her spade: yet loves as well
- Rest on a friendly knee, intent to ask
- The tale he loves to tell.
- Rude spirits of the seething outer strife,
- Unmeet to read her pure and simple spright,
- Deem, if you list, such hours a waste of life
- Empty of all delight!
- Chat on, sweet Maid, and rescue from annoy
- Hearts that by wiser talk are unbeguiled.
- Ah, happy he who owns that tenderest joy,
- The heart-love of a child!
- Away fond thoughts, and vex my soul no more!
- Work claims my wakeful nights, my busy days—
- Albeit bright memories of that sunlit short
- Yet haunt my dreaming gaze!