XXIX — To R. L. S.

A child,

Curious and innocent,

Slips from his Nurse, and rejoicing

Loses himself in the Fair.

Thro’ the jostle and din

Wandering, he revels,

Dreaming, desiring, possessing;

Till, of a sudden

Tired and afraid, he beholds

The sordid assemblage

Just as it is; and he runs

With a sob to his Nurse

( Lighting at last on him ),

And in her motherly bosom

Cries him to sleep.

Thus thro’ the World,

Seeing and feeling and knowing,

Goes Man: till at last,

Tired of experience, he turns

To the friendly and comforting breast

Of the old nurse, Death.