A Portrait
Full of child-thoughts, and glad at simple things,—
Not versed in deep things;—well content to be
In green woods or green meadows, or to see
The painted butterfly spread sportive wings:
Happy in all the joy the blue sky brings,
And full of an unfathomed purity:
Not clever, great, or learned,—but to me
Fairer than jewelled queens to mighty kings:—
Such is the child: a very simple flower,—
Flaunting no petals flushed with garish red;
Full ne'ertheless of her own quiet power,
Serenely blossoming on her own calm bower,
And flinging from her sunlit golden head
Light that transfigures many a mortal hour.
Not versed in deep things;—well content to be
In green woods or green meadows, or to see
The painted butterfly spread sportive wings:
Happy in all the joy the blue sky brings,
And full of an unfathomed purity:
Not clever, great, or learned,—but to me
Fairer than jewelled queens to mighty kings:—
Such is the child: a very simple flower,—
Flaunting no petals flushed with garish red;
Full ne'ertheless of her own quiet power,
Serenely blossoming on her own calm bower,
And flinging from her sunlit golden head
Light that transfigures many a mortal hour.
Translation:
Language:
Reviews
No reviews yet.