4523962Poems — Childlike in thine InnocenceMary Caroline Denver and Jane Campbell Denver
CHILDLIKE IN THINE INNOCENCE.
Childlike in thine innocence Thou dost rise before my view, With thy locks of glossy brown, And thine eyes of azure hue. Years have passed since last we met, But as drops of water they, When I measure them with hours Passed when children out at play.
Years have passed—and what art thou? Thou wast once so glad and wild, Can I picture to myself Thee as other than a child? Can the feelings we possessed Pass with lapse of years away? They are linked within my breast Round the beautiful and gay;
Round the beautiful and gay;—Hast thou still the magic spell, Which my heart hath ever loved, Loved so long and loved so well?Do the dreams of young romance Tenant still thy fertile mind? Brighter images than these Never memory enshrined!
Then we peopled the vast earth With bright beings fancy-formed, Till the space above was filled, And the air with fairies swarmedThen our thoughts were eagle-thoughts With the sunbeam's track combined! And the world we made was bright With the angels of the mind.
Do they guard that empire still, Bringing music from each sphere Scorning all the worldly things That so cramp and curb us here? O! how cold must seem the world To the warm and sanguine heart,When the eagle-dreams of youth Spread their pinions to depart!
May they linger with us long, We are nought but children yet: Though the world with all its wiles Fain would teach us to forget. Tho' we tread no more the fields,Nor the laurel-planted hill, Which our early footsteps trod, Let us, let us love them still!
For the beings we have made Still inhabit those lone hills; And their spirit-voices ring From the depths of shaded rills!And their pinions wave above Like a thin, transparent cloud: And the air is hushed and still, And the stately pine is bowed.
Oftentimes, within our hearts Will those spirit-voices sound, For their place of birth to them,Must be consecrated ground. When their known and solemn tread Through each dreaming bosom thrills, We will wander back again To our own familiar hills.
