Classic Poem

But what will they remember of the arm
That bundled them and shouldered their first cry
When ogres of the floor came stealing nigh
Disguised as careless pins intending harm;
And that small hand which held their smaller warm
And led it through strange thoroughfares; the eye
So watchful lest one movement slant awry:
Will they recall how sleepless its alarm?

Suppose they fashion keys of inquiry,
Unlock the rooms and corridors of dream,
Retrace themselves and approach identity
With infancy and what she might have been?
Will they discover where she keeps the art
Which hid itself in her persistent heart?