Here let me lie, and press My forehead's pain out on Thy mantle's hem; And chide not my distress, For this, that I have loved thee less, In loving so much some, whose sordidness Has left me outcast, at the last, from them And their poor love, which I cannot contemn. No, cannot, even now, Put Thee before them in my broken heart. But, gentle Shepherd, Thou Dost even such as I allow The healing of Thy presence. Let my brow Be covered from thy sight, while I, apart, Brood over in dull pain my mortal hurt. CHILDHOOD. A child of scarcely seven years, Light haired, and fair as any lily; With pure eyes ready in their tears At chiding words, or glances chilly; And sudden smiles, as inly bright As lamps through alabaster shining, With ready mirth, and fancies light, Dashed with strange dreams of child-divining: A child in all infantile grace, Yet with the angel lingering in her face. A curious, eager, questioning child, Whose logic leads to naive conclusions; Her little knowledge reconciled To truth amid some odd confusions; Yet credulous, and loving much The problems hardest for her reason, Placing her lovely faith on such, And deeming disbelief a treason; Doubting that which she can disprove, And wisely trusting all the rest to love. Such graces dwell beside your hearth, And bless you in a priceless pleasure, Leaving no sweeter spot on earth Than that which holds your household treasure. No entertainment ever yet Had half the exquisite completeness-- The gladness without one regret, You gather from your darling's sweetness: An angel sits beside the hearth Where e're an innocent child is found on earth. A LITTLE BIRD THAT EVERY ONE KNOWS. There's a little bird with a wondrous song-- A little bird that every one knows-- (Though it sings for the most part _under the rose_), That is petted and pampered wherever it goes, And nourished in bosoms gentle and strong. This petted bird has a crooked beak And eyes like live coals set in its head, A gray breast dappled with glowing red-- DABBLED--not dappled, I should have said, From a fancy it has of which I shall speak. This eccentricity that I name Is, that whenever the bird would sing It darts its black head under its wing, And moistens its beak in--darling thing!-- A human heart that is broken with shame. Then this cherished bird its song begins-- Always begins its song one way-- With two little dulcet words, THEY SAY, Carolled in such a charming way That the listener's heart it surely wins.