With the glory thou hast won!

Ere the world shall bring it praises, or the tomb shall see it fade.

Round about a holy childhood, as if drinking its repose.

He is harmless---ye are sinful,---

Pleasures, to make room for more---

On the ringlets which half screen thee,---

Throw them earthward where they grew.

Heaven-flowers, rayed by shadows golden

Would ye not break out in weeping, and confess yourse九-九-藏-書lves too weak?

Floweth outward with increase---

Bless the dimple in his cheek?

And the benediction speak?

While the young child dreameth on.

Now perhaps divinely holden,

Weary childhoods mandragore,

As the moths around a taper,

Dare ye look at one another,

Dare not bless him! but be blessed by his peace---and go in peace.

Softly, softly! make no noises!

Aｈttｐs://ｒｅad.9９ｃsw•commaranths he looks unto---

Shapes of brightness overlean thee,---

Tis the child-heart draws them, singing

Round thee,---were the clouds away.

We may think so from the quickening of his bloom and of his breath.

While thou smilest, . . . not in sooth

From his pretty eyes have sunken

Now he muses deep the meaning of the Heaven-words as they come.

Now he hears the angels voices

In a sweetnｈttｐｓ://ｒeaｄ•９9ｃsｗ.coｍess beyond touching---held in cloistral sanctities.

Vision unto vision calleth,

Nosegays! leave them for the waking:

Speak not! he is consecrated---

Lifted up and separated,

In the silent-seeming clay---

Swing against him in a wreath---

Darker wert thou in the garden, yestermorn, by summer sun.

Folded eyes see brighter colours than the open ever do.

We should see the spirits ringing

Breathe no bre九_九_藏_書ath across his eyes.

During slumber, shade by shade:

On the hand of God he lies,

To fine down this childish beauty

To the thing it must be made,

Dim are such, beside the breaking

Thy smile . . . but the overfair one, dropt from some aethereal mouth.

Could ye bless him---father---mother ?

As the gnats around a vapour,---

Sleeping near the withered nosegay, which he pul九_九_藏_書led the day before.

As the bees around a rose,

Singing!---Stars that seem the mutest, go in music all the way.

Haply it is angels duty,

How he sleepeth! having drunken

From his slumber, virtue winful

Fair, O dreamer, thee befalleth

Ye are troubled---he, at ease:

From the paths they sprang beneath,

Folding silence in the room---

Flash their diadems of youth

So the Spirits group and close

Now he lieth dead and dumb---