How delicate, how wondrous!
Yes, my boy!
Well may we make the stream’s bright, winding vein
Our woodland guide, for He who made the stream
Made it a clue to haunts of loveliness,
For ever deepening. Oh, forget him not,
Dear child! That airy gladness which thou feel’st
Wafting thee after bird and butterfly,
As ’twere a breeze within thee, is not less
His gift, his blessing on thy spring-time hours,