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Child, I see thee! Child, I've found thee Midst of the quiet all around thee! Child, I see thee! Child, I spy thee! And thy mother sweet is nigh thee! Child, I know thee! Child no more, But a Poet evermore! See, see, the lyre, the lyre, In a flame of fire, Upon the little cradle's top Flaring, flaring, flaring, Past the eyesight's bearing. Awake it from its sleep, And see if it can keep Its eyes upon the blaze— Amaze, amaze! It stares, it stares, it stares, It dares what no one dares! It lifts its little hand into the flame Unharmed, and on the strings Paddles a little tune, and sings, With dumb endeavor sweetly— Bard art thou completely! Little child O' th' western wild, Bard art thou completely! Sweetly with dumb endeavor, A Poet now or never, Little child O' th' western wild, A poet now or never!