TO CAROLINE.
When thy bounding step I hear,
And thy soft voice, low and clear;
When thy glancing eyes I meet,
In their sudden laughter sweet—
Thou, I dream, wert surely born
For a path by care unworn!
Thou must be a shelter’d flower,
With but sunshine for thy dower.
Ah, fair child! not e’en for thee
May this lot of brightness be;
Yet, if grief must add a tone
To thine accents now unknown;
If within that cloudless eye
Sadder thought must one day lie,
Still I trust the signs which tell
On thy life a light shall dwell,
Light—thy gentle spirit’s own,
From within around thee thrown.