ENVOI

Child, do you love the flower

Ashine with colour and dew

Lighting its transient hour?

So I love you.

The lambs in the mead are at play,

‘ Neath a hurdle the shepherd's asleep;

From height to height of the day

The sunbeams sweep.

Evening will come. And alone

The dreamer the dark will beguile;

All the world will be gone

For a dream's brief while.

Then I shall be old; and away:

And you, with sad joy in your eyes,

Will brood over children at play

With as loveful surmise.