That calm and unforgotten look
A kindred love reveals,
With his who never friend forsook,
Or hurt a thing that feels.
In thought profound, in wildest glee,
In sorrows dark and strange,
The soul of Lamb's bright infancy
Endured no spot or change.
From traits of each our love receives
For comfort, nobler scope;
While light, which child-like genius leaves.
Confirms the infant's hope;
And in that hope with sweetness fraught
Be aching hearts beguiled,
To blend in one delightful thought
The POET and the CHILD!
EDWARD FITZGERALD'S "THE MEADOWS IN SPRING"
FROM HONE'S YEAR BOOK
(See Letter 535, page 938)
'Tis a sad sight
To see the year dying;
When autumn's last wind
Sets the yellow wood sighing;
Sighing, oh sighing!
When such a time cometh,
I do retire
Into an old room,
Beside a bright fire;
Oh! pile a bright fire!
And there I sit
Reading old things
Of knights and ladies,
While the wind sings:
Oh! drearily sings!