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Suspended in a stream as clear as sky,Where earth and heaven do make one imagery;O blessed Vision! happy Child!That art so exquisitely wild,I think of thee with many fearsFor what may be thy lot in future years.
I thought of times when Pain might be thy guest,Lord of thy house and hospitality;And grief, uneasy Lover! never restBut when she sate within the touch of thee.Oh! too industrious folly!Oh! vain and causeless melancholy!Nature will either end thee quite;Or, lengthening out thy season of delight,Preserve for thee, by individual right,A young Lamb's heart among the full-grown flocks.What hast Thou to do with sorrow,Or the injuries of tomorrow?
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