Page:Roden Noel - A Little Child's Monument - 1881.pdf/92

 In ruffled mirrors of dark memory The still face of Eternity. Yea, and every tiny sprout Of bloom or leaf is yonder still, Though many a wind may waft us doubt, And they play hide and seek at will In the spirit's fairy fountain, From holy halls of night divine so musically mounting!

"Doth not the aged man recover What seemed long perished of his primal youth? Once more he is the child, the blithe boy-lover, Who lay concealed below life's lavish later growth. And though the soul bewildered err from life to life, She shall possess them all in God, afar from mortal strife!

"Oft on me in dream My blessed one will gleam. All palpable as when at first He quenched my spirit's longing thirst; I fold him close, I feel him kiss, I feel his hands, his hair; the bliss No fuller was of yore, And asking for no more, I thank the Lord for this. Howbeit I clasp him closer than of old,