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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77707 ***
+
+
+
+
+                        FLOWERS OF PARNASSUS—XXI
+
+
+                        A LITTLE CHILD’S WREATH
+
+
+[Illustration: “Content I leave with God what once I missed.”]
+
+
+
+
+                        A LITTLE CHILD’S WREATH
+      BY ELIZABETH RACHEL CHAPMAN. WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY W. GRAHAM
+                           ROBERTSON ❧ ☙︎ ❧ ☙︎
+
+
+                          JOHN LANE: PUBLISHER
+                          LONDON AND NEW YORK
+
+                                MDCCCCIV
+
+
+             Wm. Clowes & Sons, Limited, Printers, London.
+
+
+                                   TO
+                            THE HOLY MEMORY
+                                   OF
+                             A LITTLE CHILD
+                                  AND
+                      TO ALL WHO HAVE MOURNED ONE
+
+
+
+
+                           Introductory Note
+
+
+Elizabeth Rachel Chapman, whose sonnets are now republished as a
+memorial volume, was born at Woodford, Essex, in February, 1850. She was
+descended through her father from a Yorkshire family associated, in many
+of its generations, with Whitby, and was connected through both father
+and mother with the Gurneys of Earlham. She was a great-grand-daughter
+of Elizabeth Fry, and was said to bear her a noticeable resemblance.
+That this likeness was also in her mind is attested by the “genius for
+benevolence” which she inherited from her ancestress, and by the
+tenderness of her affection and pity for all sufferers. In her _Book of
+Sibyls_ Mrs. Ritchie (Miss Thackeray) describes the Gurneys of Earlham
+as ordained to “a sort of natural priesthood.” Elizabeth Chapman was of
+that company of devoted spirits. Her love for children was boundless;
+and the _Wreath_ was consecrated to the memory of a little nephew,
+tenderly loved, in whose grave she now lies.
+
+Miss Chapman’s writings were published between the years 1881 and 1897;
+at earlier date appeared her first work, _Master of All_, and at the
+later her last, _Marriage Questions in Modern Fiction_. Meanwhile she
+wrote what was perhaps her best-known work, _A Companion to “In
+Memoriam,”_ which drew from Tennyson the letter published in the _Life_:
+“I am grateful to you,” he says, “for your book ... excellent in taste
+and judgment. I like, too, what you say about Comtism. I really could
+almost fancy that page 95 was written by myself. I have been saying the
+same thing for years in all but the same words.” The passage treats of
+her perfect belief in immortality, and her sense of the mockery of life
+without a future. Again, he said that her commentary on his poem was
+“the best ever done.” _A Tourist Idyll and other Stories_, _The New
+Godiva and other Studies_, and _A Comtist Lover and other Studies_ had
+followed each other at intervals of a year or two, and in 1887 appeared
+a volume of verse, _The New Purgatory and other Poems_. _A Little
+Child’s Wreath_ was published in 1894 and reprinted in the year
+following.
+
+There is a sense in which the simplest things of literature are the most
+difficult. The primary and original griefs and felicities of the heart
+need to-day something more than the original emotion, if poetry is to
+re-tell them. We know too well the formula in literature, whereas in the
+heart there is no formula; and thus the simple and primitive passion
+inclines to be more silent now than at any earlier day. Women no longer
+cry out at a funeral, and they say little when a child dies. The outcry
+has ceased to reach the sensibility of the hearer, and the phrase of
+grief has grown relaxed and dull by custom. Therefore it is with some of
+the courage of unconsciousness, and of a grief secluded in its own
+completeness, that a writer takes up the old history of the loss of a
+beloved child. For this sorrow is so constantly with us—with mankind—as
+to have become the ready subject of another kind of literature. The
+sentimentalist has used it, and the sincere mourner, who had at hand
+only a sentimentalist’s diction, has vainly essayed to convey the true
+feeling in the strained and depreciated phrase. When Elizabeth Rachel
+Chapman undertook her _Little Child’s Wreath_, she must have been well
+aware that two kinds of insincerity—the insincerity of the
+sentimentalist, which is insincerity of character, and that other sort
+which is merely insincerity of literature, and may be the disabled
+utterance of a true heart—had made much, especially in the course of the
+nineteenth century, of the death of children. But she forgot or
+disregarded all this unworthiness, for it can always be put aside; and
+freshly and tenderly arranged her thoughts and rhymed her phrases,
+writing out of a heart doubly sincere.
+
+Obviously her work must have been done in the after-time of grief. Her
+sorrow for the little boy, which no mother could have excelled, had
+grown, when she began to write, not gentler—for we can hardly imagine it
+anything but gentle even in the first speechless hours—but more able to
+endure. She had the literary sincerity which led her to this expression,
+and made the craftsmanship of verse a natural exercise in the leisure of
+her loss. There is no rhetoric, no mere borrowing of excessive language,
+no violence of feeling or of diction. The laws of poetry, spiritual as
+well as metrical, control, or rather direct, the writer’s statement of
+love and loss, and she has given the right of this discipline to a form
+of verse—the Shakespearian sonnet—long neglected, but better fitted than
+the Petrarchan to the quantity and quality of English rhyme. The poems
+do not profess despair or revolt; they have the dignity of another
+spirit, older, newer, and doubtless more perdurable. Miss Chapman’s
+studies of _In Memoriam_ had instructed her in the responsibilities of a
+profound affliction.
+
+Slightly, with the slightness of tenderness, she reveals the portrait of
+a wonderful child, one of whom the world was not worthy. His death at
+seven years old silenced the doubts, not whether he would be good, but
+whether he would be strong, whether he would have the force, the
+enterprise to face the strife, to grapple with the ill. The imminence of
+death was evidently visible in him as it has been in so many children
+who have died, as it is visible even in an infant who is not to survive
+infancy—a greater sweetness, a lovelier smile, not imagined by a
+mother’s memory after the child’s death, but noted during his life and
+during his health, and confessed then as the inevitable sign of near
+mortality. The portrait in _A Little Child’s Wreath_ is an exquisite one
+of an exquisite subject; and unconsciously the author—now that she too
+has passed from this world we may say it—has shown her own beautiful and
+noble soul to have been marked for a too early, though a later, passage.
+
+                                                          ALICE MEYNELL.
+
+
+        _Our darling loved the meadows and the trees;
+        Great London jarred him ; he was ill at ease
+        And alien in the stir, the noise, the press;
+        The city vexed his perfect gentleness._
+
+        _So, loving him, we sent him from the town
+        To where the autumn leaves were falling brown,
+        And the November primrose, pale and dim,
+        In his own garden-plot delighted him._
+
+        _There, like his flowers, he would thrive and grow,
+        We in our fondness thought. But God said: No,
+        Your way is loving, but not wholly wise;
+        My way is best—to give him Paradise._
+
+
+
+
+                             Illustrations
+
+
+     “Content I leave with God what once I missed”   _Frontispiece_
+     “Round me the city looms, void, waste and wild”      _Page_ 23
+     “The jocund dance of wind-swept daffodils”               „  29
+     “From heaven to heaven, along an azure sea”              „  35
+     “O’er hill and dale, through waste and wood”             „  47
+     “Or heaven reflected in the serious face”                „  61
+
+
+
+
+                        A LITTLE CHILD’S WREATH
+
+
+                                   I.
+
+        If, where thou walkest, dear, we too could walk,
+        Close in the footsteps of our little saint,
+        Now, on this earth ; and hear the angels talk,
+        Living this very life (without life’s taint);
+
+        If, where thou goest, we could also go,
+        Calm in the heavenly places, waiting not
+        For death’s enfranchisement to overthrow
+        The world in us, with every flaw and blot;
+
+        If thy small hands, that late were clasped in pain,
+        Could clasp us every day to God and thee,
+        Drawing us childwards, heavenwards again
+        By their mere whiteness, everlastingly—
+
+        Then, humbled and consoled by so much grace,
+        We might less hungrily desire thy face.
+
+
+                                  II.
+
+        Turn where I will, I miss, I miss my sweet;
+        By my lone fire, or in the crowded way
+        Once so familiar to his joyous feet,
+        I miss, I hunger for him all the day.
+
+        This is the house wherefrom his welcome rang;
+        These are the wintry walks where he and I
+        Would pause to mark if a stray robin sang,
+        Or some new sunset-flame enriched the sky.
+
+        Here, where we crossed the dangerous road, and where
+        Unutterably desolate I stand,
+        How often, peering through the sombre air,
+        I felt the sudden tightening of his hand!
+
+        Round me the city looms, void, waste and wild,
+        Wanting the presence of one little child.
+
+[Illustration: “Round me the city looms, void, waste and wild.”]
+
+
+                                  III.
+
+        They bid me go forget my grief in Art;
+        But, dear, what art is so aloof and so
+        Distinct from thee that it can bring my heart
+        The balm less all-embracing sorrows know?
+
+        Most surely not the painter’s; he, alas!
+        With all the cunning of his craft divine,
+        But disappoints my sight with what might pass
+        For beauty—had I never looked on thine.
+
+        And music, what can music do but fill
+        The trembling cup of longing to the brim?
+        There is no music—save a child’s voice still
+        Soft singing in the dusk the evening hymn.
+
+        My very art, my art of song—ah me!
+        What is it now but one long sob for thee?
+
+
+                                  IV.
+
+        Move through the flames with us, transcendent form,
+        As of the Son of God, in splendour move!
+        Divide the anguish, breast with us the storm,
+        Companion perfect grief with perfect love.
+
+        Shine through the burning, more refulgent thou
+        Than fire with will subdued and mastered pain;
+        Unharmed sustain us in the furnace now,
+        And unconsumèd lead us forth again.
+
+        Word of the Highest! Mystic effluence
+        Of That which calms us most, which helps us best!
+        Compose our hearts, control our shattered sense,
+        And, in our tribulation, give us rest.
+
+        Nerve us to watch the night of weeping through,
+        Wisely to bear and nobly still to do.
+
+
+                                   V.
+
+        When spring comes and the long, unwonted snows
+        Fade from the shrouded parks, and little green
+        Adventurous points show where the crocus grows,
+        And soon the dazzling phalanx will be seen—
+
+        Then, in your favourite “flower-walk,” my dear,
+        Will troops of happy, living children play;
+        But I the shouts, the laughter shall not hear,
+        For I, dear heart, I shall not pass that way.
+
+        Was it not there that, bounding at my side,
+        Last year in glorious sympathy with spring,
+        You the first crocus suddenly espied
+        With musical sweet cries of welcoming?
+
+        In less frequented spots, observed of none,
+        My steps will stray, bereaved, forlorn, alone.
+
+
+                                  VI.
+
+        Our woodland poet who on Nature’s breast
+        Lay wisely passive through the tranquil years,
+        Wrote of the comrade whom he loved the best
+        This praise: She gave me eyes, she gave me ears.
+
+        The jocund dance of wind-swept daffodils;
+        The marvel of the nest the sparrows made;
+        The secrets of the vales and of the hills
+        The child had slowlier learned without her aid.
+
+        For me, my best instructor in the spells
+        And wiles of Nature was a seven-years’ boy,
+        To whom she had revealed the soul that dwells
+        Beneath her careless outward robe of joy.
+
+        She knew him true; she made him one with her,
+        Her little prophet and interpreter.
+
+[Illustration: “The jocund dance of wind-swept daffodils.”]
+
+
+                                  VII.
+
+        Deep-curving lashes, long and soft and dark;
+        Deep gentle eyes that late were lit in heaven
+        With God’s most sacred, most immaculate spark,
+        To His elect among the children given;
+
+        Dark hair, where wistful hands laid on to bless
+        Might pause, blest rather, overshadowèd
+        By wings of angels and the blamelessness
+        That crowned the innocent brow, the gracious head;
+
+        A cheek, where tremulous colour came and went,
+        Transparent, sensitive, and smooth and fine;
+        Well-chiselled features, mutely eloquent
+        Of the great Master-workman’s touch divine—
+
+        These were the parts that made a perfect whole,
+        The faultless temple of a spotless soul.
+
+
+                                 VIII.
+
+        More than the faith of childhood’s years he had;
+        He did not doubt the depth of our desire
+        That he should be perpetually glad,
+        Nor dream our joy in him could ever tire.
+
+        He trusted all the world; the world was kind,
+        And men and women loving; so he went
+        To dwell with strangers undismayed in mind,
+        And smiled, and did not deem it banishment.
+
+        In every heart he knew he found a home,
+        A sanctuary in every human face;
+        And when God, missing him in heaven, said: Come!
+        It did not seem a solitary place.
+
+        I think he only flushed in sweet surprise
+        To see the golden floor beneath his eyes.
+
+
+                                  IX.
+
+        So docile was my dear, so wise to know
+        And love the tender rule he should obey,
+        So childly tractable, withal so slow
+        To childish wrath, so clean from passion’s sway,
+
+        The momentary doubt would sometimes rise
+        If in the patient child reposed the will
+        The man would need, the force, the enterprise
+        To face the strife, to grapple with the ill.
+
+        I know not, but I know that manhood’s crown
+        Was ever meekness, since the children’s friend
+        Rode humbly royal through the palm-strewn town
+        Unto a stern retributory end.
+
+        I see foreshadowed in that seven-years’ span
+        The fulness of the stature of a man.
+
+
+                                   X.
+
+        From heaven to heaven[1], along an azure sea,
+        Fanned by light airs, his little sail was set;
+        Young angels went with him for company,
+        And smiles and sunshine all the way he met.
+
+        His pretty mates and he had communings
+        So fair, he could possess his soul in peace,
+        And scorn to be disturbed by earthly things
+        And chafed by trivial jars that soon must cease.
+
+        Why should he fret who was in sight of port
+        Before almost he left his native shore,
+        And did but change a well-beloved resort
+        For one that would content and charm him more?
+
+        His great serenity to him was given
+        Because his conversation was in heaven.
+
+Footnote 1:
+
+           “Heaven lies about us in our infancy.”—_Wordsworth._
+
+[Illustration: “From heaven to heaven, along an azure sea.”]
+
+
+                                  XI.
+
+        “Flowers in my garden! Flowers!” Love’s willing thrall,
+        Responsive ever to her tyrant’s will,
+        Sped through the house, nor heeded other call,
+        To where, without, he stood and claimed her still.
+
+        “My garden” in the town required the grace
+        He had to call it such—a dust-grimed square—
+        But his content emparadised the place,
+        And made it bud and blossom everywhere.
+
+        “Where are your flowers?” I mocked, for all around,
+        Under the dismal walls, smoke-tainted green,
+        Dim laurel, sad spent crocus on the ground,
+        Sad ivy-tendrils, could alone be seen.
+
+        But while I mocked, laughing and kissing too—
+        Lo! three small stems of scylla frail and blue.
+
+
+                                  XII.
+
+        Under the flowers he loved my flower lies,
+        Pansy, and primrose pale, and violet,
+        And in my heart the season’s sweetness dies,
+        And all my joy is faded to regret.
+
+        My garden, mine, is his new-planted grave,
+        Beneath the elm where birds, new-mated, sing,
+        Whose green-tipped branches in the west-wind wave,
+        And make their glad obeisance to the spring.
+
+        Tell me not spring is fair and fraught with hope,
+        Bid me not go seek solace at her hands!
+        Spring is my autumn, my year’s downward slope,
+        And he is lying where the tall elm stands.
+
+        My only spring, my only hope is this—
+        Soon, soon to follow where my treasure is.
+
+
+                                 XIII.
+
+        I know not by what sorcery of sleep
+        Last night I held him radiant in my arms,
+        Yet knew him soon to die, but did not weep,
+        That he might think death blesses us, not harms.
+
+        In health, in love, in life, it seemed my lot
+        To tell my lovely dear that he must go
+        Where we who were so one with him could not,
+        But needs must linger, if we would or no.
+
+        And musing how I best could keep him brave,
+        And knowing well the hopes and fears of seven,
+        And well the liveliest joy his heart could have,
+        I smiled and told him flowers grew in heaven.
+
+        But while to his, athirst, my lips I pressed,
+        The bright face fell; he thought to stay was best.
+
+
+                                  XIV.
+
+        “Ill-placed my heart; I love another’s child,”[2]
+        Sings wistfully, and sighs, a bard of France;
+        And ah! the hunger in the accents mild,
+        The pain behind the smiling countenance!
+
+        Vexed with the ache of uncompanioned souls,
+        His playmate at his mother’s side he sees,
+        And scarce his tender jealousy controls
+        When swift he springs upon his father’s knees.
+
+        Nay, poet, sing for joy, exult and sing!
+        Thy dear one lives, though not for thee his heart;
+        He lives, he breathes, he ails not anything;
+        Watch him and love, and, praising God, depart.
+
+        ’Tis but his father sweetly rivals thee,
+        While death, alas! requires my love of me.
+
+Footnote 2:
+
+       “J’ai mal placé mon cœur—j’aime l’enfant d’un autre.”—_Sully
+                                Prudhomme._
+
+
+                                  XV.
+
+        When in the twilight, round my lonely room,
+        Leaving the pictured features that I love,
+        My sad eyes, aching in the childless gloom,
+        From one mute image to the other rove,
+
+        They dwell with most repose, most solacement
+        On the fair stripling, strong, erect and calm,
+        Of Andrea’s dream, from whose sweet lips “Repent!”
+        Fell soft, I think, like odoriferous balm.
+
+        Deep, gentle eyes; pure, finely-moulded mouth,
+        Like his but now I looked my last upon;
+        He seems my angel grown to god-like youth,
+        And my belovèd seems the young St. John.
+
+        With even such loveliness of soul and limb
+        Time and God’s grace would have anointed him.
+
+
+                                  XVI.
+
+        Within a petal of the blessed Rose,
+        Of Dante’s blessed Rose of Paradise,
+        Sits my belovèd, radiant in repose,
+        Love on his lips, and laughter in his eyes.
+
+        There, with the tender jocund company
+        Of little hurrying folk[3] that haste to heaven,
+        To him the sunshine of the life to be,
+        To him the perfectness of joy is given.
+
+        Above the Flower’s mystic heart of light
+        His rose-leaf curls, a perfumed, delicate nest,
+        And whitely folds around his raiment white,
+        Encircling him in beauty and in rest.
+
+        And in and out, like bees, the angels flit,
+        With stores of bliss that he may feed on it.
+
+Footnote 3:
+
+              “Questa festinata gente a vera vita.”—_Dante._
+
+
+                                 XVII.
+
+        If haply, dear, I may to thee attain,
+        And be, I too, a child in heaven with thee,[4]
+        Let me for evermore a child remain,
+        And where thou dwellest, let my dwelling be.
+
+        A childish-lowly seat, but next thine own;
+        If this, through perfect grace, should be my lot,
+        I would not climb to any loftier throne,
+        And loftier hopes I would remember not.
+
+        The elder life brought strife, not peace, on earth,
+        The growing years dismay and hate and feud;
+        To share for ever thy unconscious mirth—
+        This were my heaven and my beatitude;
+
+        And all the lore that saints and sages teach
+        Were foolishness beside thy prattling speech.
+
+Footnote 4:
+
+      “I think we shall all be children to begin with, when we get to
+                           heaven.”—_Tennyson._
+
+
+                                 XVIII.
+
+        Like Mary’s mother, moving not her gaze,
+        For all her singing, from her daughter’s smile,
+        I would give endless thanks, give endless praise,
+        And look on thee, thee only, all the while.
+
+        Close to thy side, my wound made whole again,
+        I would not raise my eyes to where, serene,
+        With Rachel, Ruth, and Beatrice, freed from pain,
+        Sits regal, crowned with angels, heaven’s queen.
+
+        I would not even glance to where he stands,
+        Proud at her feet, while loud his _Aves_ swell,
+        With wings outspread, intent on her commands,
+        The mighty Love[5], God’s herald, Gabriel.
+
+        How could I choose but ever feast on this,
+        To see my heart’s delight again in bliss?
+
+Footnote 5:
+
+               “Quell’ amor che primo li discese.”—_Dante._
+
+
+                                  XIX.
+
+        Where jaded London pauses, climbing north,
+        For very weariness, and leaves large room
+        For May in magic vesture to come forth
+        And spread the hills with fern and yellow broom,
+
+        I go to breathe; I go, without my dear,
+        And think how he, with ball or mimic bow,
+        Danced up and down the happy slopes last year,
+        His eye joy-kindled and his cheek aglow.
+
+        I hear him call my name; I see the far
+        Blue distance shine beyond the hawthorn-flowers;
+        I cry to God to give me back my star,
+        My sweet, to give me back those golden hours.
+
+        How cool upon the heights the breezes blew!
+        How swift into the air his arrow flew!
+
+
+                                  XX.
+
+        At midnight, in my dream, a cry was heard,
+        As of the bridegroom’s coming. Through the black
+        And solitary void no echo stirred
+        Sounded this melody: He has come back!
+
+        A little moment, and behold once more
+        I saw him, as he lived, before me stand,
+        But to a deeper hue than erst it wore
+        By largesse of the sun his cheek was tanned.
+
+        They said that gipsies had decoyed my love,
+        And he, o’er hill and dale, through waste and wood,
+        Where’er such pensioners of nature rove,
+        Had shared their wandering life and found it good.
+
+        In careless joy glad day had followed day;
+        And that was why he was so long away.
+
+[Illustration: “O’er hill and dale, through waste and wood.”]
+
+
+                                  XXI.
+
+        And wilt thou never feel the hurrying tide
+        Of virile blood pulse quick along thy veins,
+        And stand magnificent in manly pride,
+        And know a man’s fierce joys and glorious pains?
+
+        Strong vital thrills that lift the human up,
+        Transfigured, rapt, to mix with the divine;
+        Beats of the music, foamings of the cup,
+        Filled to the splendid brim with youth’s new wine—
+
+        These wilt thou never taste—not taste the bliss
+        Of our mere being, mere recurrent breath,
+        Mere oneness with the life in all that is,
+        The cosmic energies that laugh at death—
+
+        Not know the moments when some god in us
+        Seems to exalt and crown our manhood thus?
+
+
+                                 XXII.
+
+        And when the god speaks, when potential force
+        Springs into actual, as the bud to flower,
+        And, like a storm-fed stream along its course,
+        Rush the first promptings of creative power;
+
+        When from mere man we grow to maker, bard,
+        Sage, prophet, scholar, artist; scale the heights;
+        Assume the sceptre; drink the whole unmarred,
+        Completed draught of richest life’s delights;
+
+        When we control and rule, inspire and lead,
+        Mould laws for men, bid empires feel our sway,
+        Probe nature’s secrets, wrest them to our need,
+        Live glorious years in one heroic day—
+
+        This full fruition of our human lot
+        Wilt thou for evermore inherit not?
+
+
+                                 XXIII.
+
+        Dying a child, thou wilt not see the birth
+        Of beauty from the blossom-foam of May
+        Again at all, or June enchant the earth
+        With scent of hedge-rose and of new-mown hay.
+
+        No more the pageant of October woods
+        Wilt thou behold, nor feel the mystical
+        Hushed charm of Nature in her wintry moods
+        Of weird white silence any more at all.
+
+        Unseen by thee to mingle with the skies
+        The alp shall rear his everlasting snow;
+        Unhallowed by the wonder in thine eyes
+        Through the clear heaven the harvest moon shall go;
+
+        Unblest by gaze of thine, perennial rills
+        Breathe answering peace among the little hills.
+
+
+                                 XXIV.
+
+        Nor, thus untimely dying, shall the throes
+        Of mightier births touch thee, afar, asleep,
+        As back to youth divine the old world grows,
+        And forward into light the lost truths leap.
+
+        Not thine, upborne upon the gathering wave
+        Of spirit-forces, perfecting the man,
+        Thy joy to seek, thy crown of joy to have
+        In newly leading him to Canaan.
+
+        The toiler, human-free, and strong in might
+        And meekness, shall not come within thy ken;
+        Nor woman rising to her pristine height
+        Sublime of patriot and of citizen;
+
+        Nor that slow loosening of the secular chain
+        That binds the brutes in dumb, vicarious pain.
+
+
+                                  XXV.
+
+        Shall Love not bless thee? Shalt thou ever miss
+        His mysteries of healing and content,
+        His balm of Gilead garnered in a kiss,
+        The bounteousness of his good government?
+
+        Lo, where he walks in pureness beauty springs,
+        And flowers of gladness where his feet have trod,
+        And all the way from off his rainbow wings
+        Drop to the earth benignant dews of God.
+
+        Who come within his gentle seigniory,
+        Whom his hand touches and his lips caress
+        Are straightway set from thrall of evil free,
+        And proudly tread the ways of righteousness.
+
+        Alas! shall Love, the saviour, not draw nigh
+        At all to thee? Shall he too pass thee by?
+
+
+                                 XXVI.
+
+        Again my dear was with me yesternight,
+        But now his brow was vexed, his eye was dim,
+        And he distressed and tired, and worn and white,
+        As when the pains of death gat hold on him.
+
+        On the bare deck of some tall phantom ship,
+        Tossed by rude waves, unnursed and lone he lay,
+        No tender hand to cool his fevered lip,
+        No voice love’s little language soft to say.
+
+        Amazed with grief to succour him I flew,
+        And made his hard bed smooth and warm and fair,
+        And one faint flickering smile of comfort drew,
+        Which pierced my heart, and still inhabits there.
+
+        Yet, waking, grieve I less, dear love! I see
+        How far more softly Death hath pillowed thee.
+
+
+                                 XXVII.
+
+        Fondly the wise man said that foolishness
+        In a child’s heart was bound, and said the rod
+        Could perfect that which surelier one caress
+        Lays, love-baptized, before the feet of God.
+
+        And fondly he, the passionate saint who steeped
+        His virgin soul in Carthaginian mire,
+        Found in the weanling babe that laughed and leaped,
+        Glad from its mother’s arm, hate, spite and ire.
+
+        They erred. The child is, was, and still shall be
+        The world’s deliverer; in his heart the springs
+        Of our salvation ever rise, and we
+        Mount on his innocency as on wings.
+
+        I, at the least, who knew and ever grieve
+        One little lovely soul, must so believe.
+
+
+                                XXVIII.
+
+        More grateful to the human heart, and more
+        Wise with the wisdom human mothers earn
+        By pangs of birth and pains of loss, his lore
+        Who bade mankind of little children learn.
+
+        Pure, he could feel their splendid guilelessness;
+        Kingly, he recognised their royalty;
+        Longsuffering, he was one with them, nor less
+        Grandly magnanimous than they was he.
+
+        He dared to judge mankind best fed by truth,
+        Best led by love, desiring most of all—
+        Not lures of sin—but grace to walk like Ruth
+        Where natural ties and home affections call.
+
+        And so he “took a child,” with father’s touch,
+        And therefore said God’s kingdom was of such.
+
+
+                                 XXIX.
+
+        A quiet southern bay; a quiet sea
+        That scarcely breaks along the level sands;
+        An ecstasy of little children’s glee;
+        A weight of grief that no one understands.
+
+        Slow-moving sails, with curves of grace complete
+        As ever beauty-loving pencil drew;
+        A ceaseless play of pretty hands and feet;
+        A want for ever deep, for ever new.
+
+        Peace on the teeming earth, goodwill and peace
+        In the clear blue and floating cloudlets white;
+        Crownèd the land with joy of her increase;
+        Quenched my desire and vanished my delight.
+
+        A sea-bird said: I know, I know the pain;
+        He will not see the summer-tide again.
+
+
+                                  XXX.
+
+        Kind little lad, with dark, disordered hair,
+        Who, friendly-wise, forsake your half-built fort
+        To make me in the sand a high-backed chair,
+        So kind, so keen to join the livelier sport—
+
+        Haste to your trenches! Fly! To arms! to arms!
+        The foe prepares to storm your citadel;
+        Your comrades sound excursions and alarms,
+        And those stout hands must fight that build so well.
+
+        Laugh, happy soul!—nor dream you brought me tears.
+        His beauty had you not—for that the earth
+        Holds not his equal—but you had his years,
+        Almost his eyes, and something of his mirth;
+
+        And one stray lock on your bare neck that curled
+        Made sudden twilight of the summer world.
+
+
+                                 XXXI.
+
+        What draws us childwards? Cherub charm and grace,
+        The frolic kitten and the tricksy elf,
+        Or heaven reflected in the serious face,
+        And the divine unconscious of itself?
+
+        What art makes magnets of the helpless hands
+        That fitfully caress and feebly touch,
+        What sorcery entwines the flowery bands
+        That chafe so sweetly and compel so much?
+
+        For thee I know not, but for me I know;
+        I know the charm that everywhere, abroad,
+        At home, and wheresoever I may go,
+        Enthrones the child my sovereign and my lord.
+
+        Not beauty, no, nor grace, nor gleams of heaven;
+        The passport to my heart is—being seven.
+
+
+                                 XXXII.
+
+        I dreamed I did but dream my love was dead,
+        And all for nought had been my long complaint;
+        He had come back and stood beside my bed,
+        Grown tall and straight and fair as Andrea’s saint.
+
+        He has come back! Again the tidings rang;
+        Again my pulses leaped with wild delight;
+        Again the choric stars together sang,
+        And joyous pæans sounded through the night.
+
+        But with the calm of heaven on me he smiled,
+        There where in feverish ecstasy I lay,
+        As on a mother her home-coming child,
+        When childish things have long been put away.
+
+        “’Tis thou art now my care,” looks such an one,
+        “And I thy stay, thy comforter, thy son.”
+
+[Illustration: “Or heaven reflected in the serious face.”]
+
+
+                                XXXIII.
+
+        Where loving Francis shed on Umbrian ways
+        And fruitful slopes of sun-kissed Apennine
+        The benediction of his cheerful praise,
+        The oil and spikenard of his speech benign,
+
+        I wandered, musing how so dark an age
+        Had borne a heart so pitying and so sweet,
+        To whom all bruisèd things made pilgrimage—
+        All hunted things—to shelter at his feet.
+
+        And fancy, wistful-fond, began to paint
+        A greeting yonder in the far-off land,
+        And how the merciful Assisian saint
+        Had taken mine, rejoicing, by the hand;
+
+        Not so much glad that he was safe and whole,
+        As proud to welcome a companion soul.
+
+
+                                 XXXIV.
+
+        The lowliest timid creature that had life,
+        Had from the prophet tenderest look and word;
+        He saved the lambs from torture and the knife,
+        And bare them in his bosom like his Lord.
+
+        While furious men through blood to greatness won,
+        And women’s eyes with weeping still were wet,
+        He taught his “sister birds” their antiphon,
+        Or fondled “little brother leveret.”
+
+        Now in his native heaven serene he moves,
+        With comrades wise, benignant, courteous, kind,
+        With whatsoever succours, yearns and loves,
+        With men of godlike and of childlike mind;
+
+        And near him walks, familiar and at ease,
+        My angel-love, for he too was of these.
+
+
+                                 XXXV.
+
+        With him too gracious Pity made her home,
+        And furled her sad soiled wings in sweet content,
+        Forgetful that it is her lot to roam
+        From age to age in woeful banishment.
+
+        His small heart seemed to her no narrow space,
+        But, like God’s many mansions, wide and fair;
+        And so she chose it for a resting-place,
+        And hospitably she was harboured there.
+
+        And grateful for the boon, she taught him lore
+        Of heaven, and how the tender angels know
+        The merciful are blest for evermore,
+        Although the wise and prudent say not so;
+
+        And how God holds him least among the least
+        Who is not pitiful to bird and beast.
+
+
+                                 XXXVI.
+
+        Superbly still they vaunt their ancient pride,
+        Those lofty eyries of old Italy
+        That ruled the land when Francis lived and died,
+        Glorious in might, erect, and fair to see.
+
+        Perugia’s portals and Siena’s towers,
+        And dear Assisi’s walls that shine afar,
+        What seem they to this distant age of ours?—
+        Lairs of fierce men that took delight in war.
+
+        Yet, while we deprecate, our Europe groans
+        Beneath her armaments the livelong day;
+        Her peoples cry for bread—we give them stones,
+        And crush and curse with mailèd peace alway;
+
+        And still to Moloch babes are sacrificed
+        By men that call upon the name of Christ.
+
+
+                                XXXVII.
+
+        Yea, lonely still and evermore without,
+        Shamed and forgotten by the weed-grown door,
+        Standeth the Christ, while rings the battle-shout,
+        While statesmen wrangle and while madmen roar.
+
+        Spurned is the lord of peace, his message spurned
+        As when his people thorns for solace gave;
+        As when Servetus or when Cranmer burned,
+        Or England dared to side against the slave.
+
+        Hark! from the savage wilds they go to tame
+        Hark, what discordant sounds affront the ear!
+        His very priests, contending in his name,
+        Make it a thing of hate and scorn and fear.
+
+        Only the child his loving liegeman is,
+        And lays a timid hand, consoled, in his.
+
+
+                                XXXVIII.
+
+        Blest are the trusting eyes that close in sleep
+        Or e’er the soilure of the world they see;
+        And blest art thou—I feel it while I weep—
+        Yea, well is thee and happy shalt thou be.
+
+        Blest is the guileless heart that never guessed
+        How faith is tainted and how love defiled,
+        But only knew them fresh from God and dressed
+        In whiteness in the fancy of a child.
+
+        Blest is the voice that never strove nor cried,
+        Nor swerved from truth, nor raged in vain desire;
+        Blest is the hour in which our darling died,
+        Saved from the evil, rescued from the fire.
+
+        Bow we the head; cease we the piteous knell;
+        God is the judge, and doeth all things well.
+
+
+                                 XXXIX.
+
+        I do thee wrong to mourn thee; I blaspheme
+        The Power that gave thee joy, that gives thee rest,
+        And while I chafe and fret, and sigh and dream,
+        Lulls thee in slumber on its sheltering breast.
+
+        This earth was not for thee, oh, not for thee
+        The turmoil and the wearying storm and stress,
+        The hungering hope deferred for good to be,
+        The mocking shows, the maddening lovelessness.
+
+        Thou spirit-child, for soothing formed, not strife!
+        Thou gracious tender joy an instant given!
+        Thou didst but beautify and bless our life
+        A little while to perfect us for heaven;
+
+        And see, for us hath life become a prayer
+        That we may merit grace to meet thee there.
+
+
+                                  XL.
+
+        Rest, little love! rest well, my heart’s desire!
+        Sleep while the storm-winds blow, the furious rage;
+        Sleep till the foes of God and goodness tire;
+        Sleep till the earth fulfils her pilgrimage.
+
+        Sleep where the slender snowdrop bells in peace
+        Kiss the small crystals off the hoary grass;
+        Sleep where all angry things and hurtful cease,
+        Where calms brood ever and where tempests pass.
+
+        Hushed by the gracious hand of pitying death,
+        I hush thee too with my low song of praise;
+        Thou gentlest thing that ever yet drew breath,
+        My thanks for this thy rest to heaven I raise!
+
+        Content I leave with God what once I missed,
+        And keep upon thy grave my Eucharist.
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+                          Flowers of Parnassus
+
+                 _A Series of Famous Poems Illustrated_
+
+                     Size 5½ × 4½ inches, gilt top
+           Price 1/- net Bound in Cloth   Price 50 cents net
+           Price 1/6 net Bound in Leather Price 75 cents net
+
+
+                            LIST OF VOLUMES
+
+ Vol. I.     GRAY’S ELEGY AND ODE ON DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE.
+               With Twelve Illustrations by J. T. FRIEDENSON.
+
+ Vol. II.    THE STATUE AND THE BUST. By ROBERT BROWNING. With Nine
+               Illustrations by PHILIP CONNARD.
+
+ Vol III.    MARPESSA. By STEPHEN PHILLIPS. With Seven Illustrations by
+               PHILIP CONNARD.
+
+ Vol. IV.    THE BLESSED DAMOZEL. By D. G. ROSSETTI. With Eight
+               Illustrations by PERCY BULCOCK.
+
+ Vol. V.     THE NUT-BROWN MAID. A New Version by F. B. MONEY-COUTTS.
+               With Nine Illustrations by HERBERT COLE.
+
+ Vol. VI.    A DREAM OF FAIR WOMEN. By ALFRED TENNYSON. With Nine
+               Illustrations by PERCY BULCOCK.
+
+ Vol. VII.   A DAY DREAM. By ALFRED TENNYSON. With Eight Illustrations
+               by AMELIA BAUERLE.
+
+ Vol. VIII.  A BALLAD ON A WEDDING. By SIR JOHN SUCKLING. With Nine
+               Illustrations by HERBERT COLE.
+
+ Vol. IX.    RUBÁIYÁT OF OMAR KHAYYÁM. Rendered into English Verse by
+               EDWARD FITZGERALD. With Nine Illustrations by HERBERT
+               COLE.
+
+ Vol. X.     THE RAPE OF THE LOCK. By ALEXANDER POPE. With Nine
+               Illustrations by AUBREY BEARDSLEY.
+
+ Vol. XI.    CHRISTMAS AT THE MERMAID. By THEODORE WATTS-DUNTON. With
+               Nine Illustrations by HERBERT COLE.
+
+ Vol. XII.   SONGS OF INNOCENCE. By WILLIAM BLAKE. With Nine
+               Illustrations by GERALDINE MORRIS.
+
+ Vol. XIII.  THE SENSITIVE PLANT. By PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. With Eight
+               Illustrations by F. L. GRIGGS.
+
+ Vol. XIV.   ISABELLA; or, THE POT OF BASIL. By JOHN KEATS. With
+               Illustrations.
+
+ Vol. XV.    WORDSWORTH’S GRAVE. By WILLIAM WATSON. With Illustrations
+               by DONALD MAXWELL.
+
+ Vol. XVII.  LYCIDAS. By JOHN MILTON. With Eight Illustrations by
+               GERTRUDE BRODIE.
+
+ Vol. XVIII. LINES COMPOSED A FEW MILES ABOVE TINTERN ABBEY. By WILLIAM
+               WORDSWORTH. With Eight Illustrations by DONALD MAXWELL.
+
+ Vol. XIX.   THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP. By HENRY LONGFELLOW. With Eight
+               Illustrations by DONALD MAXWELL.
+
+ Vol. XX.    THE TOMB OF BURNS. By WILLIAM WATSON. With Nine
+               Illustrations by D. Y. CAMERON.
+
+ Vol. XXI.   A LITTLE CHILD’S WREATH. By ELIZABETH RACHEL CHAPMAN. With
+               an Introduction by Mrs. MEYNELL, and Illustrations by W.
+               GRAHAM ROBERTSON.
+
+ Vol. XXII.  THE DEFENCE OF GUENEVERE. By WILLIAM MORRIS. With Eight
+               Illustrations by JESSIE M. KING.
+
+ Vol. XXIII. KILMENY. By JAMES HOGG. With Eight Illustrations by MARY
+               CORBETT.
+
+ Vol. XXIV.  ODE ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST’S NATIVITY. By JOHN MILTON.
+               With Eight Illustrations by J. COLLIER JAMES.
+
+ Vol. XXV.   THE BALLAD OF A NUN. By JOHN DAVIDSON. With Eight
+               Illustrations by PAUL HENRY.
+
+ Vol. XXVI.  RESOLUTION AND INDEPENDENCE. By WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. With
+               Eight Illustrations by DONALD MAXWELL.
+
+                      JOHN LANE, London & New York
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+                          TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
+
+
+ ● Typos fixed; non-standard spelling and dialect retained.
+ ● Used numbers for footnotes.
+ ● Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.
+ ● HTML alt text was added for images that didn’t have captions.
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77707 ***
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+<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77707 ***</div>
+
+<div class='tnotes covernote'>
+
+<p class='c000'><strong>Transcriber’s Note:</strong></p>
+
+<p class='c000'>New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the public domain.</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class='chapter ph1'>
+
+<div class='nf-center-c0'>
+<div class='nf-center c001'>
+    <div><span class='c002'>FLOWERS OF PARNASSUS—XXI</span></div>
+    <div class='c003'>A LITTLE CHILD’S WREATH</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+
+<div id='Frontispiece' class='c003 figcenter id001'>
+<img src='images/i_frontis.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
+<div class='ic001'>
+<p>“Content I leave with God what once I missed.”</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<div class='titlepage border'>
+
+<div>
+  <h1 class='c004'>A LITTLE CHILD’S WREATH<br> BY ELIZABETH RACHEL CHAPMAN. WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY W. GRAHAM ROBERTSON&#8196;<span class='c005'>❧&#8196;☙︎&#8196;❧&#8196;☙︎</span></h1>
+</div>
+
+<div class='nf-center-c0'>
+<div class='nf-center c003'>
+    <div>JOHN LANE: PUBLISHER</div>
+    <div>LONDON AND NEW YORK</div>
+    <div class='c006'><span class='small'>MDCCCCIV</span></div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class='nf-center-c0'>
+<div class='nf-center c003'>
+    <div><span class='small'>Wm. Clowes &#38; Sons, Limited, Printers, London.</span></div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class='nf-center-c0'>
+<div class='nf-center c003'>
+    <div>TO</div>
+    <div>THE HOLY MEMORY</div>
+    <div>OF</div>
+    <div>A LITTLE CHILD</div>
+    <div>AND</div>
+    <div>TO ALL WHO HAVE MOURNED ONE</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class='chapter'>
+  <span class='pageno' id='Page_9'>9</span>
+  <h2 class='c007'>Introductory Note</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p class='c008'>Elizabeth Rachel Chapman, whose sonnets are
+now republished as a memorial volume, was born at
+Woodford, Essex, in February, 1850. She was
+descended through her father from a Yorkshire family
+associated, in many of its generations, with Whitby,
+and was connected through both father and mother
+with the Gurneys of Earlham. She was a great-grand-daughter
+of Elizabeth Fry, and was said to bear
+her a noticeable resemblance. That this likeness was
+also in her mind is attested by the “genius for benevolence”
+which she inherited from her ancestress, and
+by the tenderness of her affection and pity for all
+sufferers. In her <cite>Book of Sibyls</cite> Mrs. Ritchie (Miss
+Thackeray) describes the Gurneys of Earlham as
+ordained to “a sort of natural priesthood.” Elizabeth
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_10'>10</span>Chapman was of that company of devoted spirits.
+Her love for children was boundless; and the <cite>Wreath</cite>
+was consecrated to the memory of a little nephew,
+tenderly loved, in whose grave she now lies.</p>
+
+<p class='c009'>Miss Chapman’s writings were published between
+the years 1881 and 1897; at earlier date appeared
+her first work, <cite>Master of All</cite>, and at the later her last,
+<cite>Marriage Questions in Modern Fiction</cite>. Meanwhile
+she wrote what was perhaps her best-known work,
+<cite>A Companion to “In Memoriam,”</cite> which drew from
+Tennyson the letter published in the <cite>Life</cite>: “I am
+grateful to you,” he says, “for your book&#160;...
+excellent in taste and judgment. I like, too, what
+you say about Comtism. I really could almost fancy
+that page 95 was written by myself. I have been
+saying the same thing for years in all but the same
+words.” The passage treats of her perfect belief in
+immortality, and her sense of the mockery of life
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_11'>11</span>without a future. Again, he said that her commentary
+on his poem was “the best ever done.” <cite>A Tourist
+Idyll and other Stories</cite>, <cite>The New Godiva and other
+Studies</cite>, and <cite>A Comtist Lover and other Studies</cite> had
+followed each other at intervals of a year or two,
+and in 1887 appeared a volume of verse, <cite>The New
+Purgatory and other Poems</cite>. <cite>A Little Child’s Wreath</cite> was
+published in 1894 and reprinted in the year following.</p>
+
+<p class='c009'>There is a sense in which the simplest things of
+literature are the most difficult. The primary and
+original griefs and felicities of the heart need to-day
+something more than the original emotion, if poetry
+is to re-tell them. We know too well the formula in
+literature, whereas in the heart there is no formula;
+and thus the simple and primitive passion inclines to
+be more silent now than at any earlier day. Women
+no longer cry out at a funeral, and they say little
+when a child dies. The outcry has ceased to reach
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_12'>12</span>the sensibility of the hearer, and the phrase of grief has
+grown relaxed and dull by custom. Therefore it is
+with some of the courage of unconsciousness, and of a
+grief secluded in its own completeness, that a writer
+takes up the old history of the loss of a beloved child.
+For this sorrow is so constantly with us—with mankind—as
+to have become the ready subject of another
+kind of literature. The sentimentalist has used it,
+and the sincere mourner, who had at hand only a
+sentimentalist’s diction, has vainly essayed to convey
+the true feeling in the strained and depreciated phrase.
+When Elizabeth Rachel Chapman undertook her
+<cite>Little Child’s Wreath</cite>, she must have been well aware
+that two kinds of insincerity—the insincerity of the
+sentimentalist, which is insincerity of character, and
+that other sort which is merely insincerity of literature,
+and may be the disabled utterance of a true heart—had
+made much, especially in the course of the
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_13'>13</span>nineteenth century, of the death of children. But she
+forgot or disregarded all this unworthiness, for it can
+always be put aside; and freshly and tenderly arranged
+her thoughts and rhymed her phrases, writing out of a
+heart doubly sincere.</p>
+
+<p class='c009'>Obviously her work must have been done in the
+after-time of grief. Her sorrow for the little boy,
+which no mother could have excelled, had grown, when
+she began to write, not gentler—for we can hardly
+imagine it anything but gentle even in the first speechless
+hours—but more able to endure. She had the
+literary sincerity which led her to this expression, and
+made the craftsmanship of verse a natural exercise in
+the leisure of her loss. There is no rhetoric, no mere
+borrowing of excessive language, no violence of feeling
+or of diction. The laws of poetry, spiritual as well as
+metrical, control, or rather direct, the writer’s statement
+of love and loss, and she has given the right of this
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_14'>14</span>discipline to a form of verse—the Shakespearian sonnet—long
+neglected, but better fitted than the Petrarchan
+to the quantity and quality of English rhyme. The
+poems do not profess despair or revolt; they have the
+dignity of another spirit, older, newer, and doubtless
+more perdurable. Miss Chapman’s studies of <cite>In
+Memoriam</cite> had instructed her in the responsibilities of
+a profound affliction.</p>
+
+<p class='c009'>Slightly, with the slightness of tenderness, she reveals
+the portrait of a wonderful child, one of whom the
+world was not worthy. His death at seven years old
+silenced the doubts, not whether he would be good,
+but whether he would be strong, whether he would
+have the force, the enterprise to face the strife, to
+grapple with the ill. The imminence of death was
+evidently visible in him as it has been in so many
+children who have died, as it is visible even in an infant
+who is not to survive infancy—a greater sweetness, a
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_15'>15</span>lovelier smile, not imagined by a mother’s memory
+after the child’s death, but noted during his life
+and during his health, and confessed then as the inevitable
+sign of near mortality. The portrait in
+<cite>A Little Child’s Wreath</cite> is an exquisite one of an
+exquisite subject; and unconsciously the author—now
+that she too has passed from this world we may
+say it—has shown her own beautiful and noble soul
+to have been marked for a too early, though a later,
+passage.</p>
+
+<div class='lg-container-r'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Alice Meynell.</span></div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class='lg-container-l c010'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_17'>17</span><i>Our darling loved the meadows and the trees;</i></div>
+      <div class='line'><i>Great London jarred him ; he was ill at ease</i></div>
+      <div class='line'><i>And alien in the stir, the noise, the press;</i></div>
+      <div class='line'><i>The city vexed his perfect gentleness.</i></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'><i>So, loving him, we sent him from the town</i></div>
+      <div class='line'><i>To where the autumn leaves were falling brown,</i></div>
+      <div class='line'><i>And the November primrose, pale and dim,</i></div>
+      <div class='line'><i>In his own garden-plot delighted him.</i></div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'><i>There, like his flowers, he would thrive and grow,</i></div>
+      <div class='line'><i>We in our fondness thought. But God said: No,</i></div>
+      <div class='line'><i>Your way is loving, but not wholly wise;</i></div>
+      <div class='line'><i>My way is best—to give him Paradise.</i></div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class='chapter'>
+  <span class='pageno' id='Page_19'>19</span>
+  <h2 class='c007'>Illustrations</h2>
+</div>
+
+<table class='table0'>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c011'>“Content I leave with God what once I missed”</td>
+    <td class='c012'><i><a href='#Frontispiece'>Frontispiece</a></i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c011'>“Round me the city looms, void, waste and wild”</td>
+    <td class='c012'><i>Page</i> <a href='#Page_23'>23</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c011'>“The jocund dance of wind-swept daffodils”</td>
+    <td class='c012'>„  <a href='#Page_29'>29</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c011'>“From heaven to heaven, along an azure sea”</td>
+    <td class='c012'>„ <a href='#Page_35'>35</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c011'>“O’er hill and dale, through waste and wood”</td>
+    <td class='c012'>„  <a href='#Page_47'>47</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c011'>“Or heaven reflected in the serious face”</td>
+    <td class='c012'>„  <a href='#Page_61'>61</a></td>
+  </tr>
+</table>
+
+<div class='chapter'>
+  <span class='pageno' id='Page_21'>21</span>
+  <h2 class='c007'>A LITTLE CHILD’S WREATH</h2>
+</div>
+
+<h3 class='c013'>I.</h3>
+
+<div class='lg-container-l c014'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>If, where thou walkest, dear, we too could walk,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Close in the footsteps of our little saint,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Now, on this earth ; and hear the angels talk,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Living this very life (without life’s taint);</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>If, where thou goest, we could also go,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Calm in the heavenly places, waiting not</div>
+      <div class='line'>For death’s enfranchisement to overthrow</div>
+      <div class='line'>The world in us, with every flaw and blot;</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>If thy small hands, that late were clasped in pain,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Could clasp us every day to God and thee,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Drawing us childwards, heavenwards again</div>
+      <div class='line'>By their mere whiteness, everlastingly—</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Then, humbled and consoled by so much grace,</div>
+      <div class='line'>We might less hungrily desire thy face.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <span class='pageno' id='Page_22'>22</span>
+  <h3 class='c015'>II.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class='lg-container-l c014'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Turn where I will, I miss, I miss my sweet;</div>
+      <div class='line'>By my lone fire, or in the crowded way</div>
+      <div class='line'>Once so familiar to his joyous feet,</div>
+      <div class='line'>I miss, I hunger for him all the day.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>This is the house wherefrom his welcome rang;</div>
+      <div class='line'>These are the wintry walks where he and I</div>
+      <div class='line'>Would pause to mark if a stray robin sang,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Or some new sunset-flame enriched the sky.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Here, where we crossed the dangerous road, and where</div>
+      <div class='line'>Unutterably desolate I stand,</div>
+      <div class='line'>How often, peering through the sombre air,</div>
+      <div class='line'>I felt the sudden tightening of his hand!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Round me the city looms, void, waste and wild,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Wanting the presence of one little child.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id001'>
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_23'>23</span>
+<img src='images/i_023.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
+<div class='ic001'>
+<p>“Round me the city looms, void, waste and wild.”</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <span class='pageno' id='Page_25'>25</span>
+  <h3 class='c015'>III.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class='lg-container-l c014'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>They bid me go forget my grief in Art;</div>
+      <div class='line'>But, dear, what art is so aloof and so</div>
+      <div class='line'>Distinct from thee that it can bring my heart</div>
+      <div class='line'>The balm less all-embracing sorrows know?</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Most surely not the painter’s; he, alas!</div>
+      <div class='line'>With all the cunning of his craft divine,</div>
+      <div class='line'>But disappoints my sight with what might pass</div>
+      <div class='line'>For beauty—had I never looked on thine.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>And music, what can music do but fill</div>
+      <div class='line'>The trembling cup of longing to the brim?</div>
+      <div class='line'>There is no music—save a child’s voice still</div>
+      <div class='line'>Soft singing in the dusk the evening hymn.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>My very art, my art of song—ah me!</div>
+      <div class='line'>What is it now but one long sob for thee?</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <span class='pageno' id='Page_26'>26</span>
+  <h3 class='c015'>IV.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class='lg-container-l c014'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Move through the flames with us, transcendent form,</div>
+      <div class='line'>As of the Son of God, in splendour move!</div>
+      <div class='line'>Divide the anguish, breast with us the storm,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Companion perfect grief with perfect love.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Shine through the burning, more refulgent thou</div>
+      <div class='line'>Than fire with will subdued and mastered pain;</div>
+      <div class='line'>Unharmed sustain us in the furnace now,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And unconsumèd lead us forth again.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Word of the Highest! Mystic effluence</div>
+      <div class='line'>Of That which calms us most, which helps us best!</div>
+      <div class='line'>Compose our hearts, control our shattered sense,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And, in our tribulation, give us rest.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Nerve us to watch the night of weeping through,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Wisely to bear and nobly still to do.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <span class='pageno' id='Page_27'>27</span>
+  <h3 class='c015'>V.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class='lg-container-l c014'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>When spring comes and the long, unwonted snows</div>
+      <div class='line'>Fade from the shrouded parks, and little green</div>
+      <div class='line'>Adventurous points show where the crocus grows,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And soon the dazzling phalanx will be seen—</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Then, in your favourite “flower-walk,” my dear,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Will troops of happy, living children play;</div>
+      <div class='line'>But I the shouts, the laughter shall not hear,</div>
+      <div class='line'>For I, dear heart, I shall not pass that way.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Was it not there that, bounding at my side,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Last year in glorious sympathy with spring,</div>
+      <div class='line'>You the first crocus suddenly espied</div>
+      <div class='line'>With musical sweet cries of welcoming?</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>In less frequented spots, observed of none,</div>
+      <div class='line'>My steps will stray, bereaved, forlorn, alone.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <span class='pageno' id='Page_28'>28</span>
+  <h3 class='c015'>VI.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class='lg-container-l c014'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Our woodland poet who on Nature’s breast</div>
+      <div class='line'>Lay wisely passive through the tranquil years,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Wrote of the comrade whom he loved the best</div>
+      <div class='line'>This praise: She gave me eyes, she gave me ears.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>The jocund dance of wind-swept daffodils;</div>
+      <div class='line'>The marvel of the nest the sparrows made;</div>
+      <div class='line'>The secrets of the vales and of the hills</div>
+      <div class='line'>The child had slowlier learned without her aid.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>For me, my best instructor in the spells</div>
+      <div class='line'>And wiles of Nature was a seven-years’ boy,</div>
+      <div class='line'>To whom she had revealed the soul that dwells</div>
+      <div class='line'>Beneath her careless outward robe of joy.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>She knew him true; she made him one with her,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Her little prophet and interpreter.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id001'>
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_29'>29</span>
+<img src='images/i_029.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
+<div class='ic001'>
+<p>“The jocund dance of wind-swept daffodils.”</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <span class='pageno' id='Page_31'>31</span>
+  <h3 class='c015'>VII.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class='lg-container-l c014'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Deep-curving lashes, long and soft and dark;</div>
+      <div class='line'>Deep gentle eyes that late were lit in heaven</div>
+      <div class='line'>With God’s most sacred, most immaculate spark,</div>
+      <div class='line'>To His elect among the children given;</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Dark hair, where wistful hands laid on to bless</div>
+      <div class='line'>Might pause, blest rather, overshadowèd</div>
+      <div class='line'>By wings of angels and the blamelessness</div>
+      <div class='line'>That crowned the innocent brow, the gracious head;</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>A cheek, where tremulous colour came and went,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Transparent, sensitive, and smooth and fine;</div>
+      <div class='line'>Well-chiselled features, mutely eloquent</div>
+      <div class='line'>Of the great Master-workman’s touch divine—</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>These were the parts that made a perfect whole,</div>
+      <div class='line'>The faultless temple of a spotless soul.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <span class='pageno' id='Page_32'>32</span>
+  <h3 class='c015'>VIII.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class='lg-container-l c014'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>More than the faith of childhood’s years he had;</div>
+      <div class='line'>He did not doubt the depth of our desire</div>
+      <div class='line'>That he should be perpetually glad,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Nor dream our joy in him could ever tire.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>He trusted all the world; the world was kind,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And men and women loving; so he went</div>
+      <div class='line'>To dwell with strangers undismayed in mind,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And smiled, and did not deem it banishment.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>In every heart he knew he found a home,</div>
+      <div class='line'>A sanctuary in every human face;</div>
+      <div class='line'>And when God, missing him in heaven, said: Come!</div>
+      <div class='line'>It did not seem a solitary place.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>I think he only flushed in sweet surprise</div>
+      <div class='line'>To see the golden floor beneath his eyes.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <span class='pageno' id='Page_33'>33</span>
+  <h3 class='c015'>IX.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class='lg-container-l c014'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>So docile was my dear, so wise to know</div>
+      <div class='line'>And love the tender rule he should obey,</div>
+      <div class='line'>So childly tractable, withal so slow</div>
+      <div class='line'>To childish wrath, so clean from passion’s sway,</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>The momentary doubt would sometimes rise</div>
+      <div class='line'>If in the patient child reposed the will</div>
+      <div class='line'>The man would need, the force, the enterprise</div>
+      <div class='line'>To face the strife, to grapple with the ill.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>I know not, but I know that manhood’s crown</div>
+      <div class='line'>Was ever meekness, since the children’s friend</div>
+      <div class='line'>Rode humbly royal through the palm-strewn town</div>
+      <div class='line'>Unto a stern retributory end.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>I see foreshadowed in that seven-years’ span</div>
+      <div class='line'>The fulness of the stature of a man.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <span class='pageno' id='Page_34'>34</span>
+  <h3 class='c015'>X.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class='lg-container-l c014'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>From heaven to heaven<a id='r1'></a><a href='#f1' class='c016'><sup>[1]</sup></a>, along an azure sea,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Fanned by light airs, his little sail was set;</div>
+      <div class='line'>Young angels went with him for company,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And smiles and sunshine all the way he met.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>His pretty mates and he had communings</div>
+      <div class='line'>So fair, he could possess his soul in peace,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And scorn to be disturbed by earthly things</div>
+      <div class='line'>And chafed by trivial jars that soon must cease.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Why should he fret who was in sight of port</div>
+      <div class='line'>Before almost he left his native shore,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And did but change a well-beloved resort</div>
+      <div class='line'>For one that would content and charm him more?</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>His great serenity to him was given</div>
+      <div class='line'>Because his conversation was in heaven.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class='footnote' id='f1'>
+<p class='c009'><a href='#r1'>1</a>. </p>
+
+<div class='nf-center-c0'>
+  <div class='nf-center'>
+    <div>“Heaven lies about us in our infancy.”—<i>Wordsworth.</i></div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id001'>
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_35'>35</span>
+<img src='images/i_035.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
+<div class='ic001'>
+<p>“From heaven to heaven, along an azure sea.”</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <span class='pageno' id='Page_37'>37</span>
+  <h3 class='c015'>XI.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class='lg-container-l c014'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>“Flowers in my garden! Flowers!” Love’s willing thrall,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Responsive ever to her tyrant’s will,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Sped through the house, nor heeded other call,</div>
+      <div class='line'>To where, without, he stood and claimed her still.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>“My garden” in the town required the grace</div>
+      <div class='line'>He had to call it such—a dust-grimed square—</div>
+      <div class='line'>But his content emparadised the place,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And made it bud and blossom everywhere.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>“Where are your flowers?” I mocked, for all around,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Under the dismal walls, smoke-tainted green,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Dim laurel, sad spent crocus on the ground,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Sad ivy-tendrils, could alone be seen.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>But while I mocked, laughing and kissing too—</div>
+      <div class='line'>Lo! three small stems of scylla frail and blue.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <span class='pageno' id='Page_38'>38</span>
+  <h3 class='c015'>XII.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class='lg-container-l c014'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Under the flowers he loved my flower lies,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Pansy, and primrose pale, and violet,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And in my heart the season’s sweetness dies,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And all my joy is faded to regret.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>My garden, mine, is his new-planted grave,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Beneath the elm where birds, new-mated, sing,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Whose green-tipped branches in the west-wind wave,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And make their glad obeisance to the spring.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Tell me not spring is fair and fraught with hope,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Bid me not go seek solace at her hands!</div>
+      <div class='line'>Spring is my autumn, my year’s downward slope,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And he is lying where the tall elm stands.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>My only spring, my only hope is this—</div>
+      <div class='line'>Soon, soon to follow where my treasure is.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <span class='pageno' id='Page_39'>39</span>
+  <h3 class='c015'>XIII.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class='lg-container-l c014'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>I know not by what sorcery of sleep</div>
+      <div class='line'>Last night I held him radiant in my arms,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Yet knew him soon to die, but did not weep,</div>
+      <div class='line'>That he might think death blesses us, not harms.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>In health, in love, in life, it seemed my lot</div>
+      <div class='line'>To tell my lovely dear that he must go</div>
+      <div class='line'>Where we who were so one with him could not,</div>
+      <div class='line'>But needs must linger, if we would or no.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>And musing how I best could keep him brave,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And knowing well the hopes and fears of seven,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And well the liveliest joy his heart could have,</div>
+      <div class='line'>I smiled and told him flowers grew in heaven.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>But while to his, athirst, my lips I pressed,</div>
+      <div class='line'>The bright face fell; he thought to stay was best.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <span class='pageno' id='Page_40'>40</span>
+  <h3 class='c015'>XIV.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class='lg-container-l c014'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>“Ill-placed my heart; I love another’s child,”<a id='r2'></a><a href='#f2' class='c016'><sup>[2]</sup></a></div>
+      <div class='line'>Sings wistfully, and sighs, a bard of France;</div>
+      <div class='line'>And ah! the hunger in the accents mild,</div>
+      <div class='line'>The pain behind the smiling countenance!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Vexed with the ache of uncompanioned souls,</div>
+      <div class='line'>His playmate at his mother’s side he sees,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And scarce his tender jealousy controls</div>
+      <div class='line'>When swift he springs upon his father’s knees.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Nay, poet, sing for joy, exult and sing!</div>
+      <div class='line'>Thy dear one lives, though not for thee his heart;</div>
+      <div class='line'>He lives, he breathes, he ails not anything;</div>
+      <div class='line'>Watch him and love, and, praising God, depart.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>’Tis but his father sweetly rivals thee,</div>
+      <div class='line'>While death, alas! requires my love of me.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class='footnote' id='f2'>
+<p class='c009'><a href='#r2'>2</a>. </p>
+
+<div class='nf-center-c0'>
+  <div class='nf-center'>
+    <div>“<span lang="fr">J’ai mal placé mon cœur—j’aime l’enfant d’un autre.</span>”—<i>Sully Prudhomme.</i></div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <span class='pageno' id='Page_41'>41</span>
+  <h3 class='c015'>XV.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class='lg-container-l c014'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>When in the twilight, round my lonely room,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Leaving the pictured features that I love,</div>
+      <div class='line'>My sad eyes, aching in the childless gloom,</div>
+      <div class='line'>From one mute image to the other rove,</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>They dwell with most repose, most solacement</div>
+      <div class='line'>On the fair stripling, strong, erect and calm,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Of Andrea’s dream, from whose sweet lips “Repent!”</div>
+      <div class='line'>Fell soft, I think, like odoriferous balm.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Deep, gentle eyes; pure, finely-moulded mouth,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Like his but now I looked my last upon;</div>
+      <div class='line'>He seems my angel grown to god-like youth,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And my belovèd seems the young St. John.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>With even such loveliness of soul and limb</div>
+      <div class='line'>Time and God’s grace would have anointed him.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <span class='pageno' id='Page_42'>42</span>
+  <h3 class='c015'>XVI.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class='lg-container-l c014'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Within a petal of the blessed Rose,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Of Dante’s blessed Rose of Paradise,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Sits my belovèd, radiant in repose,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Love on his lips, and laughter in his eyes.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>There, with the tender jocund company</div>
+      <div class='line'>Of little hurrying folk<a id='r3'></a><a href='#f3' class='c016'><sup>[3]</sup></a> that haste to heaven,</div>
+      <div class='line'>To him the sunshine of the life to be,</div>
+      <div class='line'>To him the perfectness of joy is given.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Above the Flower’s mystic heart of light</div>
+      <div class='line'>His rose-leaf curls, a perfumed, delicate nest,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And whitely folds around his raiment white,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Encircling him in beauty and in rest.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>And in and out, like bees, the angels flit,</div>
+      <div class='line'>With stores of bliss that he may feed on it.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class='footnote' id='f3'>
+<p class='c009'><a href='#r3'>3</a>. </p>
+
+<div class='nf-center-c0'>
+  <div class='nf-center'>
+    <div>“Questa festinata gente a vera vita.”—<i>Dante.</i></div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <span class='pageno' id='Page_43'>43</span>
+  <h3 class='c015'>XVII.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class='lg-container-l c014'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>If haply, dear, I may to thee attain,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And be, I too, a child in heaven with thee,<a id='r4'></a><a href='#f4' class='c016'><sup>[4]</sup></a></div>
+      <div class='line'>Let me for evermore a child remain,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And where thou dwellest, let my dwelling be.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>A childish-lowly seat, but next thine own;</div>
+      <div class='line'>If this, through perfect grace, should be my lot,</div>
+      <div class='line'>I would not climb to any loftier throne,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And loftier hopes I would remember not.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>The elder life brought strife, not peace, on earth,</div>
+      <div class='line'>The growing years dismay and hate and feud;</div>
+      <div class='line'>To share for ever thy unconscious mirth—</div>
+      <div class='line'>This were my heaven and my beatitude;</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>And all the lore that saints and sages teach</div>
+      <div class='line'>Were foolishness beside thy prattling speech.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class='footnote' id='f4'>
+<p class='c009'><a href='#r4'>4</a>. </p>
+
+<div class='nf-center-c0'>
+  <div class='nf-center'>
+    <div>“I think we shall all be children to begin with, when we get to heaven.”—<i>Tennyson.</i></div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <span class='pageno' id='Page_44'>44</span>
+  <h3 class='c015'>XVIII.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class='lg-container-l c014'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Like Mary’s mother, moving not her gaze,</div>
+      <div class='line'>For all her singing, from her daughter’s smile,</div>
+      <div class='line'>I would give endless thanks, give endless praise,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And look on thee, thee only, all the while.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Close to thy side, my wound made whole again,</div>
+      <div class='line'>I would not raise my eyes to where, serene,</div>
+      <div class='line'>With Rachel, Ruth, and Beatrice, freed from pain,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Sits regal, crowned with angels, heaven’s queen.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>I would not even glance to where he stands,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Proud at her feet, while loud his <i>Aves</i> swell,</div>
+      <div class='line'>With wings outspread, intent on her commands,</div>
+      <div class='line'>The mighty Love<a id='r5'></a><a href='#f5' class='c016'><sup>[5]</sup></a>, God’s herald, Gabriel.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>How could I choose but ever feast on this,</div>
+      <div class='line'>To see my heart’s delight again in bliss?</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class='footnote' id='f5'>
+<p class='c009'><a href='#r5'>5</a>. </p>
+
+<div class='nf-center-c0'>
+  <div class='nf-center'>
+    <div>“Quell’ amor che primo li discese.”—<i>Dante.</i></div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <span class='pageno' id='Page_45'>45</span>
+  <h3 class='c015'>XIX.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class='lg-container-l c014'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Where jaded London pauses, climbing north,</div>
+      <div class='line'>For very weariness, and leaves large room</div>
+      <div class='line'>For May in magic vesture to come forth</div>
+      <div class='line'>And spread the hills with fern and yellow broom,</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>I go to breathe; I go, without my dear,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And think how he, with ball or mimic bow,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Danced up and down the happy slopes last year,</div>
+      <div class='line'>His eye joy-kindled and his cheek aglow.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>I hear him call my name; I see the far</div>
+      <div class='line'>Blue distance shine beyond the hawthorn-flowers;</div>
+      <div class='line'>I cry to God to give me back my star,</div>
+      <div class='line'>My sweet, to give me back those golden hours.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>How cool upon the heights the breezes blew!</div>
+      <div class='line'>How swift into the air his arrow flew!</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <span class='pageno' id='Page_46'>46</span>
+  <h3 class='c015'>XX.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class='lg-container-l c014'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>At midnight, in my dream, a cry was heard,</div>
+      <div class='line'>As of the bridegroom’s coming. Through the black</div>
+      <div class='line'>And solitary void no echo stirred</div>
+      <div class='line'>Sounded this melody: He has come back!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>A little moment, and behold once more</div>
+      <div class='line'>I saw him, as he lived, before me stand,</div>
+      <div class='line'>But to a deeper hue than erst it wore</div>
+      <div class='line'>By largesse of the sun his cheek was tanned.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>They said that gipsies had decoyed my love,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And he, o’er hill and dale, through waste and wood,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Where’er such pensioners of nature rove,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Had shared their wandering life and found it good.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>In careless joy glad day had followed day;</div>
+      <div class='line'>And that was why he was so long away.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id001'>
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_47'>47</span>
+<img src='images/i_047.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
+<div class='ic001'>
+<p>“O’er hill and dale, through waste and wood.”</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <span class='pageno' id='Page_49'>49</span>
+  <h3 class='c015'>XXI.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class='lg-container-l c014'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>And wilt thou never feel the hurrying tide</div>
+      <div class='line'>Of virile blood pulse quick along thy veins,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And stand magnificent in manly pride,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And know a man’s fierce joys and glorious pains?</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Strong vital thrills that lift the human up,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Transfigured, rapt, to mix with the divine;</div>
+      <div class='line'>Beats of the music, foamings of the cup,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Filled to the splendid brim with youth’s new wine—</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>These wilt thou never taste—not taste the bliss</div>
+      <div class='line'>Of our mere being, mere recurrent breath,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Mere oneness with the life in all that is,</div>
+      <div class='line'>The cosmic energies that laugh at death—</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Not know the moments when some god in us</div>
+      <div class='line'>Seems to exalt and crown our manhood thus?</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <span class='pageno' id='Page_50'>50</span>
+  <h3 class='c015'>XXII.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class='lg-container-l c014'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>And when the god speaks, when potential force</div>
+      <div class='line'>Springs into actual, as the bud to flower,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And, like a storm-fed stream along its course,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Rush the first promptings of creative power;</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>When from mere man we grow to maker, bard,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Sage, prophet, scholar, artist; scale the heights;</div>
+      <div class='line'>Assume the sceptre; drink the whole unmarred,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Completed draught of richest life’s delights;</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>When we control and rule, inspire and lead,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Mould laws for men, bid empires feel our sway,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Probe nature’s secrets, wrest them to our need,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Live glorious years in one heroic day—</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>This full fruition of our human lot</div>
+      <div class='line'>Wilt thou for evermore inherit not?</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <span class='pageno' id='Page_51'>51</span>
+  <h3 class='c015'>XXIII.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class='lg-container-l c014'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Dying a child, thou wilt not see the birth</div>
+      <div class='line'>Of beauty from the blossom-foam of May</div>
+      <div class='line'>Again at all, or June enchant the earth</div>
+      <div class='line'>With scent of hedge-rose and of new-mown hay.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>No more the pageant of October woods</div>
+      <div class='line'>Wilt thou behold, nor feel the mystical</div>
+      <div class='line'>Hushed charm of Nature in her wintry moods</div>
+      <div class='line'>Of weird white silence any more at all.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Unseen by thee to mingle with the skies</div>
+      <div class='line'>The alp shall rear his everlasting snow;</div>
+      <div class='line'>Unhallowed by the wonder in thine eyes</div>
+      <div class='line'>Through the clear heaven the harvest moon shall go;</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Unblest by gaze of thine, perennial rills</div>
+      <div class='line'>Breathe answering peace among the little hills.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <span class='pageno' id='Page_52'>52</span>
+  <h3 class='c015'>XXIV.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class='lg-container-l c014'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Nor, thus untimely dying, shall the throes</div>
+      <div class='line'>Of mightier births touch thee, afar, asleep,</div>
+      <div class='line'>As back to youth divine the old world grows,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And forward into light the lost truths leap.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Not thine, upborne upon the gathering wave</div>
+      <div class='line'>Of spirit-forces, perfecting the man,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Thy joy to seek, thy crown of joy to have</div>
+      <div class='line'>In newly leading him to Canaan.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>The toiler, human-free, and strong in might</div>
+      <div class='line'>And meekness, shall not come within thy ken;</div>
+      <div class='line'>Nor woman rising to her pristine height</div>
+      <div class='line'>Sublime of patriot and of citizen;</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Nor that slow loosening of the secular chain</div>
+      <div class='line'>That binds the brutes in dumb, vicarious pain.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <span class='pageno' id='Page_53'>53</span>
+  <h3 class='c015'>XXV.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class='lg-container-l c014'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Shall Love not bless thee? Shalt thou ever miss</div>
+      <div class='line'>His mysteries of healing and content,</div>
+      <div class='line'>His balm of Gilead garnered in a kiss,</div>
+      <div class='line'>The bounteousness of his good government?</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Lo, where he walks in pureness beauty springs,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And flowers of gladness where his feet have trod,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And all the way from off his rainbow wings</div>
+      <div class='line'>Drop to the earth benignant dews of God.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Who come within his gentle seigniory,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Whom his hand touches and his lips caress</div>
+      <div class='line'>Are straightway set from thrall of evil free,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And proudly tread the ways of righteousness.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Alas! shall Love, the saviour, not draw nigh</div>
+      <div class='line'>At all to thee? Shall he too pass thee by?</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <span class='pageno' id='Page_54'>54</span>
+  <h3 class='c015'>XXVI.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class='lg-container-l c014'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Again my dear was with me yesternight,</div>
+      <div class='line'>But now his brow was vexed, his eye was dim,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And he distressed and tired, and worn and white,</div>
+      <div class='line'>As when the pains of death gat hold on him.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>On the bare deck of some tall phantom ship,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Tossed by rude waves, unnursed and lone he lay,</div>
+      <div class='line'>No tender hand to cool his fevered lip,</div>
+      <div class='line'>No voice love’s little language soft to say.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Amazed with grief to succour him I flew,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And made his hard bed smooth and warm and fair,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And one faint flickering smile of comfort drew,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Which pierced my heart, and still inhabits there.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Yet, waking, grieve I less, dear love! I see</div>
+      <div class='line'>How far more softly Death hath pillowed thee.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <span class='pageno' id='Page_55'>55</span>
+  <h3 class='c015'>XXVII.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class='lg-container-l c014'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Fondly the wise man said that foolishness</div>
+      <div class='line'>In a child’s heart was bound, and said the rod</div>
+      <div class='line'>Could perfect that which surelier one caress</div>
+      <div class='line'>Lays, love-baptized, before the feet of God.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>And fondly he, the passionate saint who steeped</div>
+      <div class='line'>His virgin soul in Carthaginian mire,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Found in the weanling babe that laughed and leaped,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Glad from its mother’s arm, hate, spite and ire.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>They erred. The child is, was, and still shall be</div>
+      <div class='line'>The world’s deliverer; in his heart the springs</div>
+      <div class='line'>Of our salvation ever rise, and we</div>
+      <div class='line'>Mount on his innocency as on wings.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>I, at the least, who knew and ever grieve</div>
+      <div class='line'>One little lovely soul, must so believe.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <span class='pageno' id='Page_56'>56</span>
+  <h3 class='c015'>XXVIII.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class='lg-container-l c014'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>More grateful to the human heart, and more</div>
+      <div class='line'>Wise with the wisdom human mothers earn</div>
+      <div class='line'>By pangs of birth and pains of loss, his lore</div>
+      <div class='line'>Who bade mankind of little children learn.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Pure, he could feel their splendid guilelessness;</div>
+      <div class='line'>Kingly, he recognised their royalty;</div>
+      <div class='line'>Longsuffering, he was one with them, nor less</div>
+      <div class='line'>Grandly magnanimous than they was he.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>He dared to judge mankind best fed by truth,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Best led by love, desiring most of all—</div>
+      <div class='line'>Not lures of sin—but grace to walk like Ruth</div>
+      <div class='line'>Where natural ties and home affections call.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>And so he “took a child,” with father’s touch,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And therefore said God’s kingdom was of such.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <span class='pageno' id='Page_57'>57</span>
+  <h3 class='c015'>XXIX.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class='lg-container-l c014'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>A quiet southern bay; a quiet sea</div>
+      <div class='line'>That scarcely breaks along the level sands;</div>
+      <div class='line'>An ecstasy of little children’s glee;</div>
+      <div class='line'>A weight of grief that no one understands.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Slow-moving sails, with curves of grace complete</div>
+      <div class='line'>As ever beauty-loving pencil drew;</div>
+      <div class='line'>A ceaseless play of pretty hands and feet;</div>
+      <div class='line'>A want for ever deep, for ever new.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Peace on the teeming earth, goodwill and peace</div>
+      <div class='line'>In the clear blue and floating cloudlets white;</div>
+      <div class='line'>Crownèd the land with joy of her increase;</div>
+      <div class='line'>Quenched my desire and vanished my delight.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>A sea-bird said: I know, I know the pain;</div>
+      <div class='line'>He will not see the summer-tide again.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <span class='pageno' id='Page_58'>58</span>
+  <h3 class='c015'>XXX.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class='lg-container-l c014'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Kind little lad, with dark, disordered hair,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Who, friendly-wise, forsake your half-built fort</div>
+      <div class='line'>To make me in the sand a high-backed chair,</div>
+      <div class='line'>So kind, so keen to join the livelier sport—</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Haste to your trenches! Fly! To arms! to arms!</div>
+      <div class='line'>The foe prepares to storm your citadel;</div>
+      <div class='line'>Your comrades sound excursions and alarms,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And those stout hands must fight that build so well.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Laugh, happy soul!—nor dream you brought me tears.</div>
+      <div class='line'>His beauty had you not—for that the earth</div>
+      <div class='line'>Holds not his equal—but you had his years,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Almost his eyes, and something of his mirth;</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>And one stray lock on your bare neck that curled</div>
+      <div class='line'>Made sudden twilight of the summer world.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <span class='pageno' id='Page_59'>59</span>
+  <h3 class='c015'>XXXI.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class='lg-container-l c014'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>What draws us childwards? Cherub charm and grace,</div>
+      <div class='line'>The frolic kitten and the tricksy elf,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Or heaven reflected in the serious face,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And the divine unconscious of itself?</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>What art makes magnets of the helpless hands</div>
+      <div class='line'>That fitfully caress and feebly touch,</div>
+      <div class='line'>What sorcery entwines the flowery bands</div>
+      <div class='line'>That chafe so sweetly and compel so much?</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>For thee I know not, but for me I know;</div>
+      <div class='line'>I know the charm that everywhere, abroad,</div>
+      <div class='line'>At home, and wheresoever I may go,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Enthrones the child my sovereign and my lord.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Not beauty, no, nor grace, nor gleams of heaven;</div>
+      <div class='line'>The passport to my heart is—being seven.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <span class='pageno' id='Page_60'>60</span>
+  <h3 class='c015'>XXXII.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class='lg-container-l c014'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>I dreamed I did but dream my love was dead,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And all for nought had been my long complaint;</div>
+      <div class='line'>He had come back and stood beside my bed,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Grown tall and straight and fair as Andrea’s saint.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>He has come back! Again the tidings rang;</div>
+      <div class='line'>Again my pulses leaped with wild delight;</div>
+      <div class='line'>Again the choric stars together sang,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And joyous pæans sounded through the night.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>But with the calm of heaven on me he smiled,</div>
+      <div class='line'>There where in feverish ecstasy I lay,</div>
+      <div class='line'>As on a mother her home-coming child,</div>
+      <div class='line'>When childish things have long been put away.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>“’Tis thou art now my care,” looks such an one,</div>
+      <div class='line'>“And I thy stay, thy comforter, thy son.”</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id001'>
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_61'>61</span>
+<img src='images/i_061.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
+<div class='ic001'>
+<p>“Or heaven reflected in the serious face.”</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <span class='pageno' id='Page_63'>63</span>
+  <h3 class='c015'>XXXIII.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class='lg-container-l c014'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Where loving Francis shed on Umbrian ways</div>
+      <div class='line'>And fruitful slopes of sun-kissed Apennine</div>
+      <div class='line'>The benediction of his cheerful praise,</div>
+      <div class='line'>The oil and spikenard of his speech benign,</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>I wandered, musing how so dark an age</div>
+      <div class='line'>Had borne a heart so pitying and so sweet,</div>
+      <div class='line'>To whom all bruisèd things made pilgrimage—</div>
+      <div class='line'>All hunted things—to shelter at his feet.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>And fancy, wistful-fond, began to paint</div>
+      <div class='line'>A greeting yonder in the far-off land,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And how the merciful Assisian saint</div>
+      <div class='line'>Had taken mine, rejoicing, by the hand;</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Not so much glad that he was safe and whole,</div>
+      <div class='line'>As proud to welcome a companion soul.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <span class='pageno' id='Page_64'>64</span>
+  <h3 class='c015'>XXXIV.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class='lg-container-l c014'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>The lowliest timid creature that had life,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Had from the prophet tenderest look and word;</div>
+      <div class='line'>He saved the lambs from torture and the knife,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And bare them in his bosom like his Lord.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>While furious men through blood to greatness won,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And women’s eyes with weeping still were wet,</div>
+      <div class='line'>He taught his “sister birds” their antiphon,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Or fondled “little brother leveret.”</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Now in his native heaven serene he moves,</div>
+      <div class='line'>With comrades wise, benignant, courteous, kind,</div>
+      <div class='line'>With whatsoever succours, yearns and loves,</div>
+      <div class='line'>With men of godlike and of childlike mind;</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>And near him walks, familiar and at ease,</div>
+      <div class='line'>My angel-love, for he too was of these.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <span class='pageno' id='Page_65'>65</span>
+  <h3 class='c015'>XXXV.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class='lg-container-l c014'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>With him too gracious Pity made her home,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And furled her sad soiled wings in sweet content,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Forgetful that it is her lot to roam</div>
+      <div class='line'>From age to age in woeful banishment.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>His small heart seemed to her no narrow space,</div>
+      <div class='line'>But, like God’s many mansions, wide and fair;</div>
+      <div class='line'>And so she chose it for a resting-place,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And hospitably she was harboured there.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>And grateful for the boon, she taught him lore</div>
+      <div class='line'>Of heaven, and how the tender angels know</div>
+      <div class='line'>The merciful are blest for evermore,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Although the wise and prudent say not so;</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>And how God holds him least among the least</div>
+      <div class='line'>Who is not pitiful to bird and beast.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <span class='pageno' id='Page_66'>66</span>
+  <h3 class='c015'>XXXVI.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class='lg-container-l c014'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Superbly still they vaunt their ancient pride,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Those lofty eyries of old Italy</div>
+      <div class='line'>That ruled the land when Francis lived and died,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Glorious in might, erect, and fair to see.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Perugia’s portals and Siena’s towers,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And dear Assisi’s walls that shine afar,</div>
+      <div class='line'>What seem they to this distant age of ours?—</div>
+      <div class='line'>Lairs of fierce men that took delight in war.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Yet, while we deprecate, our Europe groans</div>
+      <div class='line'>Beneath her armaments the livelong day;</div>
+      <div class='line'>Her peoples cry for bread—we give them stones,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And crush and curse with mailèd peace alway;</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>And still to Moloch babes are sacrificed</div>
+      <div class='line'>By men that call upon the name of Christ.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <span class='pageno' id='Page_67'>67</span>
+  <h3 class='c015'>XXXVII.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class='lg-container-l c014'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Yea, lonely still and evermore without,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Shamed and forgotten by the weed-grown door,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Standeth the Christ, while rings the battle-shout,</div>
+      <div class='line'>While statesmen wrangle and while madmen roar.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Spurned is the lord of peace, his message spurned</div>
+      <div class='line'>As when his people thorns for solace gave;</div>
+      <div class='line'>As when Servetus or when Cranmer burned,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Or England dared to side against the slave.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Hark! from the savage wilds they go to tame</div>
+      <div class='line'>Hark, what discordant sounds affront the ear!</div>
+      <div class='line'>His very priests, contending in his name,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Make it a thing of hate and scorn and fear.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Only the child his loving liegeman is,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And lays a timid hand, consoled, in his.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <span class='pageno' id='Page_68'>68</span>
+  <h3 class='c015'>XXXVIII.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class='lg-container-l c014'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Blest are the trusting eyes that close in sleep</div>
+      <div class='line'>Or e’er the soilure of the world they see;</div>
+      <div class='line'>And blest art thou—I feel it while I weep—</div>
+      <div class='line'>Yea, well is thee and happy shalt thou be.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Blest is the guileless heart that never guessed</div>
+      <div class='line'>How faith is tainted and how love defiled,</div>
+      <div class='line'>But only knew them fresh from God and dressed</div>
+      <div class='line'>In whiteness in the fancy of a child.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Blest is the voice that never strove nor cried,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Nor swerved from truth, nor raged in vain desire;</div>
+      <div class='line'>Blest is the hour in which our darling died,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Saved from the evil, rescued from the fire.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Bow we the head; cease we the piteous knell;</div>
+      <div class='line'>God is the judge, and doeth all things well.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <span class='pageno' id='Page_69'>69</span>
+  <h3 class='c015'>XXXIX.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class='lg-container-l c014'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>I do thee wrong to mourn thee; I blaspheme</div>
+      <div class='line'>The Power that gave thee joy, that gives thee rest,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And while I chafe and fret, and sigh and dream,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Lulls thee in slumber on its sheltering breast.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>This earth was not for thee, oh, not for thee</div>
+      <div class='line'>The turmoil and the wearying storm and stress,</div>
+      <div class='line'>The hungering hope deferred for good to be,</div>
+      <div class='line'>The mocking shows, the maddening lovelessness.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Thou spirit-child, for soothing formed, not strife!</div>
+      <div class='line'>Thou gracious tender joy an instant given!</div>
+      <div class='line'>Thou didst but beautify and bless our life</div>
+      <div class='line'>A little while to perfect us for heaven;</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>And see, for us hath life become a prayer</div>
+      <div class='line'>That we may merit grace to meet thee there.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <span class='pageno' id='Page_70'>70</span>
+  <h3 class='c015'>XL.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class='lg-container-l c014'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Rest, little love! rest well, my heart’s desire!</div>
+      <div class='line'>Sleep while the storm-winds blow, the furious rage;</div>
+      <div class='line'>Sleep till the foes of God and goodness tire;</div>
+      <div class='line'>Sleep till the earth fulfils her pilgrimage.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Sleep where the slender snowdrop bells in peace</div>
+      <div class='line'>Kiss the small crystals off the hoary grass;</div>
+      <div class='line'>Sleep where all angry things and hurtful cease,</div>
+      <div class='line'>Where calms brood ever and where tempests pass.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Hushed by the gracious hand of pitying death,</div>
+      <div class='line'>I hush thee too with my low song of praise;</div>
+      <div class='line'>Thou gentlest thing that ever yet drew breath,</div>
+      <div class='line'>My thanks for this thy rest to heaven I raise!</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>Content I leave with God what once I missed,</div>
+      <div class='line'>And keep upon thy grave my Eucharist.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class='pbb'>
+ <hr class='pb c006'>
+</div>
+<div class='border'>
+
+<div class='nf-center-c0'>
+<div class='nf-center c001'>
+    <div><span class='xlarge'>Flowers of Parnassus</span></div>
+    <div class='c006'><span class='large'><i>A Series of Famous Poems Illustrated</i></span></div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+<div class='border'>
+
+<table class='table1'>
+  <tr><td class='c017' colspan='3'>Size 5½ × 4½ inches, gilt top</td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c018'>Price 1/- net</td>
+    <td class='c018'>Bound in Cloth</td>
+    <td class='c019'>Price 50 cents net</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c018'>Price 1/6 net</td>
+    <td class='c018'>Bound in Leather</td>
+    <td class='c019'>Price 75 cents net</td>
+  </tr>
+</table>
+
+</div>
+<div class='border'>
+
+<div class='nf-center-c0'>
+<div class='nf-center c003'>
+    <div><span class='large'>LIST OF VOLUMES</span></div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+<div class='border'>
+
+  <dl class='dl_1'>
+    <dt>Vol. I.</dt>
+    <dd>GRAY’S ELEGY AND ODE ON DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE. With Twelve Illustrations by 
+    <span class='sc'>J. T. Friedenson</span>.
+    </dd>
+    <dt>Vol. II.</dt>
+    <dd>THE STATUE AND THE BUST. By <span class='sc'>Robert Browning</span>. With Nine 
+    Illustrations by <span class='sc'>Philip Connard</span>.
+    </dd>
+    <dt>Vol III.</dt>
+    <dd>MARPESSA. By <span class='sc'>Stephen Phillips</span>. With Seven Illustrations by <span 
+    class='sc'>Philip Connard</span>.
+    </dd>
+    <dt>Vol. IV.</dt>
+    <dd>THE BLESSED DAMOZEL. By <span class='sc'>D. G. Rossetti</span>. With Eight Illustrations 
+    by <span class='sc'>Percy Bulcock</span>.
+    </dd>
+    <dt>Vol. V.</dt>
+    <dd>THE NUT-BROWN MAID. A New Version by <span class='sc'>F. B. Money-Coutts</span>. With 
+    Nine Illustrations by <span class='sc'>Herbert Cole</span>.
+    </dd>
+    <dt>Vol. VI.</dt>
+    <dd>A DREAM OF FAIR WOMEN. By <span class='sc'>Alfred Tennyson</span>. With Nine 
+    Illustrations by <span class='sc'>Percy Bulcock</span>.
+    </dd>
+    <dt>Vol. VII.</dt>
+    <dd>A DAY DREAM. By <span class='sc'>Alfred Tennyson</span>. With Eight Illustrations by 
+    <span class='sc'>Amelia Bauerle</span>.
+    </dd>
+    <dt>Vol. VIII.</dt>
+    <dd>A BALLAD ON A WEDDING. By <span class='sc'>Sir John Suckling</span>. With Nine 
+    Illustrations by <span class='sc'>Herbert Cole</span>.
+    </dd>
+    <dt>Vol. IX.</dt>
+    <dd>RUBÁIYÁT OF OMAR KHAYYÁM. Rendered into English Verse by <span class='sc'>Edward 
+    Fitzgerald</span>. With Nine Illustrations by <span class='sc'>Herbert Cole</span>.
+    </dd>
+    <dt>Vol. X.</dt>
+    <dd>THE RAPE OF THE LOCK. By <span class='sc'>Alexander Pope</span>. With Nine Illustrations 
+    by <span class='sc'>Aubrey Beardsley</span>.
+    </dd>
+    <dt>Vol. XI.</dt>
+    <dd>CHRISTMAS AT THE MERMAID. By <span class='sc'>Theodore Watts-Dunton</span>. With Nine 
+    Illustrations by <span class='sc'>Herbert Cole</span>.
+    </dd>
+    <dt>Vol. XII.</dt>
+    <dd>SONGS OF INNOCENCE. By <span class='sc'>William Blake</span>. With Nine Illustrations by 
+    <span class='sc'>Geraldine Morris</span>.
+    </dd>
+    <dt>Vol. XIII.</dt>
+    <dd>THE SENSITIVE PLANT. By <span class='sc'>Percy Bysshe Shelley</span>. With Eight 
+    Illustrations by <span class='sc'>F. L. Griggs</span>.
+    </dd>
+    <dt>Vol. XIV.</dt>
+    <dd>ISABELLA; or, THE POT OF BASIL. By <span class='sc'>John Keats.</span> With Illustrations.
+    </dd>
+    <dt>Vol. XV.</dt>
+    <dd>WORDSWORTH’S GRAVE. By <span class='sc'>William Watson</span>. With Illustrations by 
+    <span class='sc'>Donald Maxwell</span>.
+    </dd>
+    <dt>Vol. XVII.</dt>
+    <dd>LYCIDAS. By <span class='sc'>John Milton</span>. With Eight Illustrations by <span 
+    class='sc'>Gertrude Brodie</span>.
+    </dd>
+    <dt>Vol. XVIII.</dt>
+    <dd>LINES COMPOSED A FEW MILES ABOVE TINTERN ABBEY. By <span class='sc'>William 
+    Wordsworth</span>. With Eight Illustrations by <span class='sc'>Donald Maxwell</span>.
+    </dd>
+    <dt>Vol. XIX.</dt>
+    <dd>THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP. By <span class='sc'>Henry Longfellow</span>. With Eight 
+    Illustrations by <span class='sc'>Donald Maxwell</span>.
+    </dd>
+    <dt>Vol. XX.</dt>
+    <dd>THE TOMB OF BURNS. By <span class='sc'>William Watson</span>. With Nine Illustrations by 
+    <span class='sc'>D. Y. Cameron</span>.
+    </dd>
+    <dt>Vol. XXI.</dt>
+    <dd>A LITTLE CHILD’S WREATH. By <span class='sc'>Elizabeth Rachel Chapman</span>. With an 
+    Introduction by Mrs. <span class='sc'>Meynell</span>, and Illustrations by <span 
+    class='sc'>W. Graham Robertson</span>.
+    </dd>
+    <dt>Vol. XXII.</dt>
+    <dd>THE DEFENCE OF GUENEVERE. By <span class='sc'>William Morris</span>. With Eight 
+    Illustrations by <span class='sc'>Jessie M. King</span>.
+    </dd>
+    <dt>Vol. XXIII.</dt>
+    <dd>KILMENY. By <span class='sc'>James Hogg</span>. With Eight Illustrations by <span 
+    class='sc'>Mary Corbett</span>.
+    </dd>
+    <dt>Vol. XXIV.</dt>
+    <dd>ODE ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST’S NATIVITY. By <span class='sc'>John Milton</span>. With 
+    Eight Illustrations by <span class='sc'>J. Collier James</span>.
+    </dd>
+    <dt>Vol. XXV.</dt>
+    <dd>THE BALLAD OF A NUN. By <span class='sc'>John Davidson</span>. With Eight Illustrations 
+    by <span class='sc'>Paul Henry</span>.
+    </dd>
+    <dt>Vol. XXVI.</dt>
+    <dd>RESOLUTION AND INDEPENDENCE. By <span class='sc'>William Wordsworth</span>. With Eight 
+    Illustrations by <span class='sc'>Donald Maxwell</span>.
+    </dd>
+    </dl>
+
+</div>
+<div class='border'>
+
+<div class='nf-center-c0'>
+  <div class='nf-center'>
+    <div>JOHN LANE, London &#38; New York</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+<div class='pbb'>
+ <hr class='pb c006'>
+</div>
+<div class='tnotes x-ebookmaker'>
+
+<div class='chapter ph2'>
+
+<div class='nf-center-c0'>
+<div class='nf-center c001'>
+    <div>TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+
+ <ul class='ul_1 c003'>
+    <li>Typos fixed; non-standard spelling and dialect retained.
+
+    </li>
+    <li>Used numbers for footnotes.
+    </li>
+  </ul>
+
+</div>
+
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77707 ***</div>
+  </body>
+  <!-- created with ppgen.py 3.57i (with regex) on 2026-01-14 23:24:03 GMT -->
+</html>
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+This book, including all associated images, markup, improvements,
+metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be
+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
+Procedures for determining public domain status are described in
+the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org.
+
+No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in
+jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize
+this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright
+status under the laws that apply to them.
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+++ b/README.md
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for eBook #77707
+(https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/77707)