For A Child

His mind has neither need nor power to know The foolish things that men call right and wrong. For him the streams of pleasant love-wind flow, For him the mystic, sleep-compelling song. Through love he rules his love-made universe, And sees with eyes by ignorance made keen The fauns and elves whom older eyes disperse, Great Pan and all the fairies with their queen. King gods, I pray, bestow on him this dole, Not wisdom, wealth, nor mighty deeds to do, But let him keep his happy pagan soul, The poet-vision, simple, free and true, To hunt the rainbow-gold and phantom lights, And meet with dryads on the wooded heights.

TO J. B. Y.

Bitter and selfish sorrow, poverty, strife and ruth, Fear of the dreadful morrow,--these took away our youth. Ængus is bending o’er us--we are too old to see, Too old to hear before us moon-drenchèd songs of Shee.

Dreamer of dreams and lover, young as are love and dreams, Show us the Shee that hover over the silver streams, Give us the song and story, make us to live anew, Bathed in your youthful glory let us be young like you.