He could not die when trees were green, For he loved the time too well. His little hands, when flowers were seen, Were held for the bluebell, As he was carried o'er the green. His eye glanced at the white-nosed bee; He knew those children of the spring: When he was well and on the lea He held one in his hands to sing, Which filled his heart with glee. Infants, the children of the spring! How can an infant die When butterflies are on the wing, Green grass, and such a sky? How can they die at spring? He held his hands for daisies white, And then for violets blue, And took them all to bed at night That in the green fields grew, As childhood's sweet delight. And then he shut his little eyes, And flowers would notice not; Birds' nests and eggs caused no surprise, He now no blossoms got; They met with plaintive sighs. When winter came and blasts did sigh, And bare were plain and tree, As he for ease in bed did lie His soul seemed with the free, He died so quietly. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ODE TO SPRING by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD A HYMN FOR CHRISTMAS DAY (2) by JOHN BYROM GLOTTO'S TOWER by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE ANGEL'S WHISPER by SAMUEL LOVER ON THE SLAIN AT CHICKAMAUGA by HERMAN MELVILLE ON PASSING THE NEW MENIN GATE by SIEGFRIED SASSOON |