“O beauteous child!” he said, “I see”—
His breath like music’s sigh—
“The earth is all unworthy thee:
Come with me to the sky.
“Earth has no happiness complete;
The soul can never lift
Thee to a height where round thy feet
No clouds of pain will drift.
“At every feast, unbidden guest,
Some fear will still intrude:
No day so calm but in its breast
The morrow’s storm may brood.
“And shall care leave with passing years
Its impress on this brow?
And sorrows dim with growing tears
These eyes so tranquil now?
“No, no, sweet child! Come, let us mount
Above the fields of space;
Kind Heaven will cancel the account
Of life’s foreshadowed days.