Of brooks, and falling waters, when they with the pebbles toy—
Of all that’s gay and beautiful, my smiling little boy.
I mingle with the busied world, and when I find it vain,
I turn me to my happy hearth and little boy again;
I love to have him shout to me, I love his airy call,
I love to hear his little step go patting through the hall;
I love to take him on my knee and fold him into rest,
As doth the parent bird the dove she shelters with her breast.
Thy kind complaints, thy boyish talk, thy merriment, my boy,
Crush all that’s base within my heart, and smooth the day’s annoy;