Page:Poems Blake.djvu/152

And heaven is lost, and heaven is won,
 And joy gives place to grieving;
The summer comes, the summer flies,
 And brings the autumn's glory,—
While still my darling's violet eyes
 Repeat the same old story,—
        That baby sleeps.

I sit and muse, while yet apace
 The future years are winging,
And think what gifts of love and grace
 Their hidden hands are bringing;
What paths the little feet may tread,
 What work the hands be moulding,
What crown awaits my darling's head,
 When heart and soul unfolding,
        No longer sleep.

Ah! hope has many a fairy theme
 That her sweet lips are breathing,
And life has many a golden dream
 That some fond heart is wreathing;—
But none so glad as those that rise
 In light and beauty blending,
To shine before a mother's eyes,
 Above the cradle bending
        While baby sleeps.