Page:Roden Noel - A Little Child's Monument - 1881.pdf/33



A spake to a sunny cloud, "Whither, my child, away?" "Father, the winds are calling loud To fields of air for play! Away! away! Father, O father, solemn-browed! Fly thou with me for play!" Nestled half in a sunny snow, And half in azure air, The cloudlet, pausing, loth to go And leave the mountain bare, With hazy hair, And misty feet in a sunny snow, May not linger there; Lithely curled in a merry breeze, With look still turned to earth, Wafted on viewless presences From the mystic mount of birth, With a merry mirth, Summoning fondly as he flees,