"A child in nature, as a child in years"

A child in nature, as a child in years,

If on past hours she turn remembering eyes,

She but beholds sweet joys or gentle tears,

Flower hiding flower in her pure memories.

So flower--like, so lovely do they seem:

Too fair to be let die, they fade too fast;

Not like that hopeless beauty, which in dream

Is ever present, but to say 'tis past.

Then should I come with sorrow at my breast,

Profitless sorrow, vainly wished away,

Will she give comfort to my heart's unrest,

She, whose bright years are as a morn of May?

Though I should sigh, I could not choose but cheer,

Knowing Joy is not far, when she is near.