WITHIN the coziest corner of my dreams He sits, high-throned above all gods that be Portrayed in marble-cold mythology, Since from his joyous eyes a twinkle gleams So warm with life and light it ever seems Spraying in mists of sunshine over me, And mingled with such rippling ecstasy As overleaps his lips in laughing streams. Ho! look on him, and say if he be old Or youthful! Hand in hand with gray old Time He toddled when an infant; and, behold! -- He hath not aged, but to the lusty prime Of babyhood -- his brow a trifle bold -- His hair a raveled nimbus of gray gold. |