Classic Poem

Very fair the child was, with hair of darkest auburn, —
Fair, and yet sunburnt with the golden summer:
Sunshine seem'd the element from which she drew her being,
Careless from her little hand the gather'd ears are scatter'd,
In a graceful wreath the purple corn-flowers binding;
While her sweet face brightens with a sudden pleasure.
Blame not her binding: already stirs within her
All the deep emotions in the love of nature, —
Love, that is the source of the beautiful and holy.
In long-after years will memory, recalling
Sweetness undying from that early garland,
Keep the heart glad with natural devotion.
'Tis a true, sweet lesson; for, in life's actual harvest,
Much we need the flowers that mingle with our labours.
Pleasures, pure and simple, recall us to their Giver;
For ever, in its joy, does the full heart think of Heaven.