Playmates far off, that have been kind,
My thought can bring before my mind.
The past, by it, is present brought,
And yet I cannot see my thought.
The charming rose perfumes the air,
Yet I can see no perfume there.
Blithe Robin’s notes,—how sweet! how clear!
From his small bill they reach my ear;
And while upon the air they float,
I hear, yet cannot see, a note.
When I would do what is forbid,
By something in my heart I’m chid;
When good I think, then quick and pat,
That something says, “My child, do that.”
When I too near the stream would go,
So pleased to see the waters flow,
That something says without a sound,
“Take care, dear child, thou mayst be drowned!”
And for the poor whene’er I grieve,
That something says, “A penny give.”