As a fond mother, when the day is o'er, Leads by the hand her little child to bed, Half willing, half reluctant to be led, And leave his broken playthings on the floor, Still gazing at them through the open door, Nor wholly reassured and comforted By promises of others in their stead, Which, though more splendid, may not please him more; So Nature deals with us, and takes away Our playthings one by one, and by the hand Leads us to rest so gently, that we go Scarce knowing if we wish to go or stay, Being too full of sleep to understand How far the unknown transcends the what we know. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FORERUNNERS by RALPH WALDO EMERSON PARAPHRASE ON THOMAS A KEMPIS by ALEXANDER POPE VALENTINES TO MY MOTHER: 1876 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI TO A FOIL'D EUROPEAN REVOLUTIONAIRE by WALT WHITMAN PEREGRINUS by LASCELLES ABERCROMBIE AMONG THE HEATHER by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM THE CALL OF THE DESERT by EMILY BALDWIN THE BABE OF BETHLEHEM by HENRY BEER A FRIENDLY EXPOSTULATION, CONCERNING THE REDEMPTION OF MANKIND by JOHN BYROM |