What alchemy is thine, O little Child, Transmuting all our thoughts, thou that art dead, And making gold of all the dross of lead That leaves the soul's pure crucible defiled; A vaporous gold, which I would fain have piled Upon my palette, and with light brush spread On Death's dark background, that thy baby head Might wear a nimbus where the angels smiled? Thus had I given back what thou hast wrought In my own soul, and placed thee high among The cherubs that are aureoled in glow; Rimming thy brow with fine red gold of thought, In such fair pictures as the English tongue Shrines in its sanctuaries while ages flow. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE JOURNEY by EMILY DICKINSON A CHILD'S GRAVE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 57. AL-HAMID by EDWIN ARNOLD THE DAWNING O' THE YEAR by MARY (MAY) ELIZABETH (MCGRATH) BLAKE ACHRONOS by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE WAGGONER by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN JACINTHS AND JESSAMINES by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT A LARGE EVENING AT THE CLUB (AS IT WAS ONCE) by BERTON BRALEY |