Poems (Greenwell)/Childhood
For works with similar titles, see Childhood.
CHILDHOOD.
Once in a garden bounded By many a lofty wall, Where quaint old sentinels, in stone. Kept watch and ward o'er all, But opening southwards, shaded By trees that swept the ground, And kept the turf unfaded And green, the summer round,There was a little lake, and there An island, and a boat That lay 'mid shining water-flags And lily-leaves afloat; Smooth as the swards around them dipt, Swept only by the wing Of gauzy dragon-fly, that dipt In many a mazy ring, "Were those still waters; all unstirred The rose's leaf would lie. Blown there by summer winds; the bird Skim, lightly glancing by. This was the Haunt of childhood; Once there I seemed to grow Among the flowers, and with the fruits To change and ripen slow; I watched them through all changes, there Upon the grass I laySnowed over by the blossoms light That fell so thick in May; I saw the currant strips that hung Transparent on the stems They clothed as in the Eastern tale With many coloured gems; I watched the peach's sunny cheek Turn slowly on the wall, And with no guess at Nature's laws Saw many an apple fall; Gold-tinted, rosy-tinged, their hues Were mine, and I as they; The purple bloom was on my life, The down unbrushed away; My world was then like His that first A happy garden knew,Unworn, and fresh, and glistening bright With shining spheres of dew; My soul was full of light that passed As through a tinctured pane In warm and vermeil hues, and cast On all its gorgeous stain; The dial on its grassy mound That silent marked the hours, (Time's footfall then awoke no sound, That only trod on flowers), The sun-flowers and the moon-flowers (These were lilies white and tall), The ancient griffins that looked down Upon me from the wall! These were for tokens unto me And signs, they seemed to pass Into my life as then I lay At noon-day on the grass, And twined a wondrous history Slow twisting, branch and stem,My garlands binding all the while My Being up with them; And I knew that in the wild-wood 'Mid the meadows, on the hill Were flowers, but unto childhood The best were nearest still; And I sometimes thought "out yonder I will seek for blossoms too," But turned again the fonder To those that round me grew; Still have I flowers around me— But some that grow so high I cannot reach unto them, And they drop not till they die; Still I have flowers around me— But some that lie so low I cannot stoop to pluck them, They must wither where they grow; Still have I flowers to eye more fair, More dear unto the heart Than those, but scattered here and there They bloom, and far apart; I scarce know where to find them, I can never hope again Within one knot to bind them, As I did so often then. Soon told were childhood's treasures— The childish world was small, But its wonders and its pleasures Were its own—it held them all!
Once, in a mansion, looking Upon that garden fair. Was a wide and pleasant parlour. And an eastward bedroom; there As on my little bed I lay Before my half-shut eyesDanced dreams of pleasure, that the morn Was sure to realize; When the sun knocked at my window, And to give him entrance free I sprung, because he never came Without some gift for me! Still night brings visions round my bed As sweet but not so true. And still the morning comes with gifts, But now they are not new; So I cry not now "To-morrow's come!" My spirit, less elate, For all that it may bring to me Full patiently can wait. My Evening and my Morning then Made up one perfect Day Of joy, and round the parlour fire My winter garden lay; I played beside it till I saw The deepening shadows fall, And through the twilight come and go The pictures on the wall,This was the hour for stories And wondrous tales, that drew My spirit after them to lands Where all was strange and new; And I listened, and I wondered, Then hastened to resume My journey (broken oft by falls That harmed not) round the room; I have now of longer journeys O'er rougher roads, to tell, And sorer hurts, without the kiss That used to make them well! This was the Home of childhood; As in a Fairy Ring Within the circle of its hearth Was drawn each cherished thing; I sent no restless thought beyond, I looked not to the door, If the whole world had entered there It could not give me more Than those that sat around it—all I knew of good and wise, Spoke for me then upon their lips, And lived within their eyes; I had no Future then, no Past, My life was unto me But one bright Now—the happiness That has no History! Still hath my heart a hearth, but now Its circle is so wide That those it burns for, never meet Around it side by side; They are severed, they are scattered, And now the twilight's fall Too often only comes to me With shadows on the wall; Soon filled with childhood's measure, The childish heart was small, Yet they that made its treasure Were its own—it held them all!
Now is that hearth deserted, So warm and bright of yore,And that pleasant garden—through its paths I shall never wander more; It is closed to me as surely As if, to bar my way, The Flaming Sword before its gate Were turning night and day; Yet I would not therefore sever My spirit from the light, But strive to widen ever Its circle of delight; For all things from it taken, And all it seeks in vain, Together prest and shaken Shall fill it yet again; For each dim and shadowy token, Each hint to childhood given,Each promise Earth hath broken Shall yet be kept in Heaven, When joy and peace long-parted Meet in an endless kiss, And perfect Love is joined at last To pure and perfect bliss! For the great and gracious Giver, Till He spread both hands to bless The cup that ever floweth o'er, And never holdeth less, With the blessing without sorrow, With the long and perfect Day Of light, that hath no morrow To take its joy away,Lets not the heaped-up measure Within the bosom fall; Keeps back its richest treasure Until He gives it all!