My little daughter who is patient, being blind, Most dearly loves to walk, her hand in mine, Across the fields and through the woods of Spring, Where every flower blows and every wood-thrush sings It seems, for her alone. And this I know is sure -- That each small blossom is more known to her Than ever it will be to me, poor clod, For I have only eyes, and she has -- faith in God. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LIMBO by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE TO ANTHEA [WHO MAY COMMAND HIM ANYTHING] by ROBERT HERRICK SEVEN SAD SONNETS: 1. THE HAPPENING by MARY REYNOLDS ALDIS TRANQUIL HABIT by AUGUSTE ANGELLIER CLIO, NINE ECLOGUES IN HONOUR OF NINE VIRTUES: 9. OF HUMILITY by WILLIAM BASSE THE PILGRIM by JOSEPH BEAUMONT OF A WINNOWER OF WHEAT TO THE WINDS by JOACHIM DU BELLAY |