To which my own hath called, they answer not:
Kind tones I’ve met, fond eyes have round me shone,
But my soul’s holiest founts have gushed alone.
“Fair, dove-eyed children at my feet have lain
Their young affections, as an offering pure;
And when I wipe the clammy brow of pain
Pale lips will bless me: gentle smiles may lure
The gay or sad around me; and I’ve yearned
To breathe to them the speech my heart had learned —
“The mystic speech of nature; but it seemed