O thou golden image,

Miniature of bliss,

Speaking sweetly, speaking meetly!

Every word deserves a kiss.

Strange, remote and splendid

Childhood’s fancy pure

Thrills to thoughts we cannot fathom,

Quick felicities obscure.

When the eyes grow solemn

Laughter fades away,

Nature of her mighty childhood

Recollects the Titan play;

Woodlands touched by sunlight

Where the elves abode,

Giant meetings, Titan greetings,

Fancies of a youthful God.

These are coming on thee

In thy secret thought;

God remembers in thy bosom

All the wonders that He wrought.

     Miracles

Snow in June may break from Nature,

Ice through August last,

The random rose may increase stature

In December’s blast;

But this at least can never be,

O thou mortal ecstasy,

That one should live, even in pain,

Visited by thy disdain.

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