Classic Poem

Little boy, whose great round eye
Hath the tincture of the sky,
Answer now, and tell me true,
Whence and what and why are you?
And he answered, ‘Mother's boy.’
Yes, yes, I know,
But 'twas not so
Six years ago
You are mother's anxious joy,
Mother's pet,
But yet—
A trouble came within the eye
That had some tincture of the sky.