My little daughter who is patient, being blind, Most dearly loves to walk, her hand in mine, Across the fields and through the woods of Spring, Where every flower blows and every wood-thrush sings It seems, for her alone. And this I know is sure -- That each small blossom is more known to her Than ever it will be to me, poor clod, For I have only eyes, and she has -- faith in God. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NAMING FOR LOVE by HAYDEN CARRUTH AMOUR by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE ABSTINENT LOVER by ABUL BAHR A BALLADE OF OTHER IDOLS by LEONARD BACON (1887-1954) CLIO, NINE ECLOGUES IN HONOUR OF NINE VIRTUES: DEDICATION TO R. WENMAN by WILLIAM BASSE |