A free gushing heart of unfetter’d delight,
Like a fount of pure water, untroubled, and bright.
Such—such is the morning of innocent youth,
When hope’s every promise seems gilded with truth,
When flowers lay scatter’d in heaps ’neath our feet,
And each passing gale brings its odorous sweet.
How fair to that baby—in half-dreamy rest
Reclining its head on a fond mother’s breast,
Looks the whole outward world to those soft smiling eyes!
How cloudless its visions—how brilliant its skies!