Page:Poems Cook.djvu/354

The forehead where it lieth
 Rarely holds a deeper thought
Than of where the blue moth flieth,
 And of how it may be caught.

The bright head where it beameth
 Rolls o'er the daisied earth,
With a heart-fill'd laugh, that seemeth
 Like the trumpet-call of Mirth.

It glitters fresh and purely,
 Like the sea-shell, fathoms low;
'Tis the only gem that surely
 Addeth halo to the brow.

Humming-birds when resting
 On the citron green;
Stars the night-cloud cresting,
 Ere the moon is seen;

Dewdrops in the dingle,
 Noon-lit harvest shocks,
Foam upon the shingle;
 Ye are dimm'd by Childhood's locks.

Oh! Manhood's knightly feather,
 And Womanhood's rich pearl—
Ye would not weigh together,
 Against Childhood's golden curl.

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There's a Curl of bitter sadness,
That is found when Peace and Gladness
  Have departed:
When the World hath made the bosom,
Like a canker-eaten blossom,
  Leper-hearted.

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