My child! so full of radiant light
Thy morning breaks, with song of birds;
That beaming eye no gloomy night
Discerns, when weary petals close,
And birds with folded wing repose.
Nor would I change this fair design;
As well the dew might fall at noon,
Or fierce December’s coming blast
Assail the shrinking flowers of June,
As fall o’er hearts in light arrayed,