Page:MU KPB 009 The Springtide of Life Poems of Childhood by Algernon Charles Swinburne.pdf/123

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Asleep and afar to-night my darling
 Lies, and heeds not the night,
If winds be stirring or storms be snarling;
 For his sleep is its own sweet light.

I sit where he sat beside me quaffing
 The wine of story and song
Poured forth of immortal cups, and laughing
 When mirth in the draught grew strong.

I broke the gold of the words, to melt it
 For hands but seven years old,
And they caught the tale as a bird, and felt it
 More bright than visible gold.

And he drank down deep, with his eyes broad beaming,
 Here in this room where I am,
The golden vintage of Shakespeare, gleaming
 In the silver vessels of Lamb.

Here by my hearth where he was I listen
 For the shade of the sound of a word,
Athirst for the birdlike eyes to glisten,
 For the tongue to chirp like a bird.

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