We find the little gods and loves portray'd
Through ancient forests wandering undismay'd,
Or gathered, whispering, in some pleasant glade.
They knew, as I do now, what keen delight
A strong man feels to watch the tender flight
Of little children playing in his sight.
I do not hunger for a well-stored mind,
I only wish to live my life, and find
My heart in unison with all mankind.
My life is like the single dewy star
That trembles on the horizon's primrose-bar,—
A microcosm where all things living are.
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And if, among the noiseless grasses, Death
Should come behind and take away my breath,
I should not rise as one who sorroweth,
For I should pass, but all the world would be
Full of desire and young delight and glee,
And why should men be sad through loss of me?
The light is dying; in the silver-blue
The young moon shines from her bright window through:
The mowers all are gone, and I go too.
Edmund Gosse.