Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/To an Infant Smiling as it Awoke

To an Infant Smiling as It Awoke.

After the sleep of night as some still lake Displays the cloudless heaven in reflection,And, dimpled by the breezes, seems to break Into a waking smile of recollection,As if from its calm depths the morning lightCalled up the pleasant dreams that gladdened night—

So doth the laughing azure of those eyes Display a mental heaven of its own:In that illumined smile I recognise The sunlight of a sphere to us unknown;Thou hast been dreaming of some previous blissIn other worlds—for thou art new to this.

Hast thou been wafted to elysian bowers In some blest star, where thou hast pre-existed;Inhaled the ecstatic fragrancy of flowers About the golden harps of seraphs twisted;Or heard the nightingales of paradiseHymn choral songs and joyous harmonies?

Perchance all breathing life is but an essence Of the great Fountain Spirit in the sky,And hast thou dreamed of that transcendent Presence Whence thou hast fallen—a dewdrop from on high—Destined to lose, as thou shalt mix with earth,Those bright recallings of thy heavenly birth.

We deem thy mortal memory but begun; But hast thou no remembrance of the past,No lingering twilight of a former sun Which o'er thy slumbering faculties hath castShadows of unimaginable thingsToo high, or deep, for human fathomings?

Perhaps, while reason's earliest fount is heightening, Athwart thine eyes celestial sights are given,As skies that open to let out the lightning Display a transitory glimpse of heaven;And thou art wrapt in visions all too brightFor aught but seraphim, or infant's sight.

Emblem of heavenly purity and bliss! Mysterious type, which none can understand!Let me with reverence then approach to kiss Limbs lately touched by the Creator's hand.So awful art thou, that I feel more proneTo ask thy blessing than bestow mine own.