poems.
107
THE BLIND CHILD.
While soothing winds and soft mild air
Are fanning gently thine auburn hair,
And calm blue sky is clear above,
Which thou canst not see, O child of love,
The soft mild zephyrs breathe on thy check,
And the velvet rose is blushing meek,
Thy fond mother's eyes are tearful, yet kind,
As she looks on the face of little Clare—blind.
Are fanning gently thine auburn hair,
And calm blue sky is clear above,
Which thou canst not see, O child of love,
The soft mild zephyrs breathe on thy check,
And the velvet rose is blushing meek,
Thy fond mother's eyes are tearful, yet kind,
As she looks on the face of little Clare—blind.
The arbor is cheerful as sunshine in May,
And thy sisters are dancing in merriest play;
The bees on the wing breathe the sweet-scented air,
While thou, my dear boy, so young and so fair,
Art lying all still in thy little white bed,
And catching with joy my echoing tread;
But the eye of thy mother is tearful, yet kind,
As she looks on the face of little Clare—blind.
And thy sisters are dancing in merriest play;
The bees on the wing breathe the sweet-scented air,
While thou, my dear boy, so young and so fair,
Art lying all still in thy little white bed,
And catching with joy my echoing tread;
But the eye of thy mother is tearful, yet kind,
As she looks on the face of little Clare—blind.
