Speak not! he is consecrated---

As the bees around a rose,

Throw them earthward where they grew.

With the glory thou hast won!

From the paths they sprang beneath,

How he sleepeth! having drunken

We should see the spirits ringing

Now he hears the angels voices

Pleasures, to make room for more---

To fine down this childish beauty

Could ye bless him---father---mother ?

Dim are such, beside the breakin九九藏书网g

And the benediction speak?

Folding silence in the room---

Floweth outward with increase---

Flash their diadems of youth

So the Spirits group and close

We may think so from the quickening of his bloom and of his breath.

Nosegays! leave them for the waking:

Breathe no breath across his eyes.

Shapes of brightness overlean thee,---

Now he lieth dead 99lib•netand dumb---

He is harmless---ye are sinful,---

Heaven-flowers, rayed by shadows golden

Haply it is angels duty,

Round thee,---were the clouds away.

Darker wert thou in the garden, yestermorn, by summer sun.

On the hand of God he lies,

Singing!---Stars that seem the mutest, go in music all the way.

Amaranths he looks unto---

Bless the dimple in his cheek?

Swing against him in a wreath---

Ye are九_九_藏_书_网 troubled---he, at ease:

From his slumber, virtue winful

Round about a holy childhood, as if drinking its repose.

As the moths around a taper,

To the thing it must be made,

Folded eyes see brighter colours than the open ever do.

Dare ye look at one another,

Sleeping near the withered nosegay, which he pulled the day before.

While thou smilest, . . . not in sooth

Tis the child-heart draws them, siwww.99lib.netnging

During slumber, shade by shade:

Now he muses deep the meaning of the Heaven-words as they come.

Now perhaps divinely holden,

From his pretty eyes have sunken

While the young child dreameth on.

Weary childhoods mandragore,

As the gnats around a vapour,---

Would ye not break out in weeping, and confess yourselves too weak?

Vision unto vision calleth,

Ere the world shall bring it praises, or the tom九_九_藏_书_网b shall see it fade.

On the ringlets which half screen thee,---

Thy smile . . . but the overfair one, dropt from some aethereal mouth.

Softly, softly! make no noises!

In a sweetness beyond touching---held in cloistral sanctities.

Dare not bless him! but be blessed by his peace---and go in peace.

Lifted up and separated,

In the silent-seeming clay---

Fair, O dreamer, thee befalleth