Ah! other days will come than these,
Such as time ever brings;
When fade the flowers beneath his feet,
The sunshine from his wings!
When many a bitter thought is writ
Within the altered mind,
The faithless friend, the hope betrayed,
The look and word unkind.
But what hath pining discontent
To do with this glad three?
Who are as glad as birds that sing
Within a summer tree:
Or as the flowers that lift their heads
Upon a sunny day—
So joyous in their own delight,
So beautiful are they!
The image of a happy child
Doth link itself with all
That natural loveliness, which least
Reminds us of our fall.
Somewhat of angel purity,
Somewhat of angel grace,
Ere longer years bring shade and soil,
Are on a childish face.
