BLEST in death and life beyond man’s guessing Little children live and die, possest Still of grace that keeps them past expressing Blest. Each least chirp that rings from every nest, Each least touch of flower-soft fingers pressing Aught that yearns and trembles to be prest, Each least glance, gives gifts of grace, redressing Grief’s worst wrongs: each mother’s nurturing breast Feeds a flower of bliss, beyond all blessing Blest. ÉTUDE RÉALISTE. I. A BABY’S feet, like sea-shells pink, Might tempt, should heaven see meet, An angel’s lips to kiss, we think, A baby’s feet. Like rose-hued sea-flowers toward the heat They stretch and spread and wink Their ten soft buds that part and meet. No flower-bells that expand and shrink Gleam half so heavenly sweet As shine on life’s untrodden brink A baby’s feet. II. A baby’s hands, like rosebuds furled Whence yet no leaf expands, Ope if you touch, though close upcurled, A baby’s hands. Then, fast as warriors grip their brands When battle’s bolt is hurled, They close, clenched hard like tightening bands. No rosebuds yet by dawn impearled Match, even in loveliest lands, The sweetest flowers in all the world— A baby’s hands. III. A baby’s eyes, ere speech begin, Ere lips learn words or sighs, Bless all things bright enough to win A baby’s eyes. Love, while the sweet thing laughs and lies, And sleep flows out and in, Sees perfect in them Paradise. Their glance might cast out pain and sin, Their speech make dumb the wise, By mute glad godhead felt within A baby’s eyes. BABYHOOD. I. A BABY shines as bright If winter or if May be On eyes that keep in sight A baby. Though dark the skies or grey be, It fills our eyes with light, If midnight or midday be. Love hails it, day and night, The sweetest thing that may be Yet cannot praise aright A baby. II. All heaven, in every baby born, All absolute of earthly leaven, Reveals itself, though man may scorn All heaven. Yet man might feel all sin forgiven, All grief appeased, all pain outworn, By this one revelation given. Soul, now forget thy burdens borne: Heart, be thy joys now seven times seven: Love shows in light more bright than morn All heaven. III. What likeness may define, and stray not From truth’s exactest way, A baby’s beauty? Love can say not What likeness may. The Mayflower loveliest held in May Of all that shine and stay not Laughs not in rosier disarray. Sleek satin, swansdown, buds that play not As yet with winds that play, Would fain be matched with this, and may not: What likeness may? IV. Rose, round whose bed Dawn’s cloudlets close, Earth’s brightest-bred Rose!