SIX YEARS OLD.

Between the springs of six and seven,

Two fresh years’ fountains, clear

Of all but golden sand for leaven,

Child, midway passing here,

As earth for love's sake dares bless heaven,

So dare I bless you, dear.

Between two bright well-heads, that brighten

With every breath that blows

Too loud to lull, too low to frighten,

But fain to rock, the rose,

Your feet stand fast, your lit smiles lighten,

That might rear flowers from snows.

You came when winds unleashed were snarling

Behind the frost-bound hours,

A snow-bird sturdier than the starling,

A storm-bird fledged for showers,

That spring might smile to find you, darling,

First born of all the flowers.

Could love make worthy things of worthless,

My song were worth an ear:

Its note should make the days most mirthless

The merriest of the year,

And wake to birth all buds yet birthless

To keep your birthday, dear.

But where your birthday brightens heaven

No need has earth, God knows,

Of light or warmth to melt or leaven

The frost or fog that glows

With sevenfold heavenly lights of seven

Sweet springs that cleave the snows.

Could love make worthy music of you,

And match my Master's powers,

Had even my love less heart to love you,

A better song were ours;

With all the rhymes like stars above you,

And all the words like flowers.