OH, 'tis a touching thing, to make one weep, -- A tender infant with its curtained eye, Breathing as it would neither live nor die With that unchanging countenance of sleep! As if its silent dream, serene and deep, Had lined its slumber with a still blue sky So that the passive cheeks unconscious lie With no more life than roses -- just to keep The blushes warm, and the mild, odorous breath. O blossom boy! so calm is thy repose, So sweet a compromise of life and death, 'Tis pity those fair buds should e'er unclose For memory to stain their inward leaf, Tinging thy dreams with unacquainted grief. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HOUSE OF DREAMS by SARA TEASDALE WITH FLOWERS by EMILY DICKINSON THE LAST POST by ROBERT RANKE GRAVES TO DAFFODILS by ROBERT HERRICK THE BRONCHO THAT WOULD NOT BE BROKEN by NICHOLAS VACHEL LINDSAY INDEPENDENCE DAY by ROYALL TYLER |