YE little household gods, that make My heart leap lighter with your play, And never let it sink or ache, Unless you are too far away; Eight years have flown, and never yet One day has risen up between The kisses of my earlier pet, And few the hours he was not seen. How can I call to you from Rome? Will @3mamma@1 teach what @3babbo@1 said? Have ye not heard him talk at home About the city of the dead? Marvellous tales will @3babbo@1 tell, If you don't clasp his throat too tight, Tales which you, Arnold, will love well, Though Julia's cheek turns pale with fright. How, swimming o'er the Tiber, Clelia Headed the rescued virgin train; And, loftier virtue! how Cornelia Lived when her two brave sons were slain. This is my birthday: may ye waitze Till mamma cracks her best guitar! Yours are true pleasures; those are false We wise ones follow from afar. What shall I bring you? would you like Urn, image, glass, red, yellow, blue, Stricken by Time, who soon must strike As deep the heart that beats for you. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONG, WRITTEN AT SEA, IN THE FIRST DUTCH WAR, 1665 ... by CHARLES SACKVILLE (1637-1706) COLUMBUS [AUGUST 3, 1492] by JOHANN CHRISTOPH FRIEDRICH VON SCHILLER THE BURIED FLOWER by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN MALIGNED MORTALITY by WILLIAM ROSE BENET THE BOSPHORUS REVISITED by SEYMOUR GREEN WHEELER BENJAMIN RELEASE by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE INSCRIPTION IN NETHER STOREY CHURCH IN MEMORY OF RICHARD CAMPLIN by WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES TANAGER by ABBIE FARWELL BROWN ABSENT YET PRESENT by EDWARD GEORGE EARLE LYTTON BULWER-LYTTON |