O CHILD of Joy! What idle life is thine! Thou, in these meadows, while thy skies are blue, And while thy joys are new to thee like wine, Chasest mad butterflies as children do. And lo, thou turnest from them to repine, Because it was not love thou didst pursue. O child of Hope! Thou sighest thy sad sighs, Mourning for that which is not nor can be. Where is the noon can match with thy sunrise? Whose is the heart shall win thy constancy? Thou, with thy foolish loves, mad butterflies, What dost thou ask of my sad heart and me? O child of Love, begotten for man's bliss! O child of Pleasure, nursed for thy own pain! Needs must I weep the day of thy distress, The fate that brushes at thy arm in vain, Thy skies of blue, thy broken happiness, The hopes thou chasest never to attain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LOVE'S ARROW POISONED by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES GLOW OF DAWN by ELIDA PATTISON BENTLEY THE PLOUGHMAN by GORDON BOTTOMLEY THE FORCED RECRUIT AT SOLFERINO by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE POET by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT AN OLD VERMONT CELLAR HOLE by DANIEL LEAVENS CADY THERE'S A STAR IN THE WEST by ELIZA COOK |