SIGHT.
I try to make the baby on my knee
Look at the sunset; pointing where it glows
Beyond the window-pane in tints of rose
And violet and gold; when suddenly
He dimples with responsive baby-glee,
I think how wonderfully well he knows
Its beauty; till the changing child-face shows
He had not seen the sky, but laughed to see
The sparkle of my rings;—O baby dear,
This world of lovely gems and sunsets, bright
With children’s faces,—is perhaps the near
Though lesser glory, dazzling our poor sight,
Until we cannot see, for very light,
The heaven that shines for us, revealed and clear.