Page:Poems Blake.djvu/172

And His dear blessing, sweet and slow,
Drops on the wounded hearts below;
When Faith ascends the golden stair,
Of love and hope and trust and prayer,—
Though grief and pain may linger yet
We would not, if we could, forget!

No! Not one motion full of grace,
Nor change of the beloved face,
Nor pouting of the baby lips,
Nor touch of tiny finger tips,
Nor cooing pat of rosy palms,
Nor sudden griefs and sudden calms,
Nor roguish smile, nor dainty fret,
Would we, for all the world, forget.

"Lord, Keep our Memory green!"May each
Sweet babbling flow of baby speech,
Each trick of eye and hand and voice,
Still make our brooding thought rejoice:
The lips, the cheek, the forehead fair,
The dimpling smile, the floating hair,—
Still in our hearts let these be set,
Nor let us, evermore, forget!