Page:Roden Noel - A Little Child's Monument - 1881.pdf/87

 Of Love's forlorn despair we bend, Hoping life's dull pain may end; Till anon some organ sounds In the street, but no glad bounds Of a child's light feet we note Run to hear the music float, Climb upon a chair to see Dancing dolls' bedizened glee, Or the monkey's mimicry.

What shall I do? … Full many others, Little ones who seem his brothers, Take delight in things like these! Do they ail, or doth the breeze Of pleasure ripple o'er their faces, I will contemplate their graces; I will be a minister The fountain of their joy to stir, In such resorts, and by such measures, As were wont to yield him pleasures; Or where little hearts may ail, Love's yoke-fellow, I will not fail, Where are tears and visage pale, To quell the tyranny of Fate, Or man, that renders desolate: And I deem he will approve In the bowers of holy Love, Near and nearer to me move.