Child of the pure unclouded brow

And dreaming eyes of wonder! Though time be fleet, and I and thou And half a life asunder, Thy lotting smile will surely hail The love-gift of a fairy-tale. I have not seen thy sunny face, Nor heard thy silver laughter: No thought of me shall find a place In thy young life's hereafter — Enough that now thou wilt not fail To listen to my fairy-tale, A tale begun in other days, When summer suns were glowing — A simple chime, that served to time The rhythm of our rowing — Whose eohoes live in memory yet. Through envious years would say forget. Come, hearen then, ere voice of dread, With bitter tidings laden. Shall summon to unwelcome bed A melancholy maid en I We are but older children, dear, Who fret to find our bedtime near, 135