Child of delight, with sun-bright hair,
And sea-blue, sea-deep eyes!
Spirit of bliss! what brings thee here,
Beneath these sullen skies?
Thou shouldst live in eternal spring,
Where endless day is never dim;
Why, Seraph has thine erring wing
Wafted thee down to weep with him?
'Ah! from heaven am I descended,
Nor do I come to mingle tears;
But sweet is day, though with shadows blended;
And, though clouded, sweet are youthful years.
'I—the image of light and gladness—
Saw and pitied that mournful boy,
And I vowed—if need were—to share his sadness,
And give to him my sunny joy.
'Heavy and dark the night is closing;
Heavy and dark may its bidding be:
Better for all from grief reposing,
And better for all who watch like me—