After a Reading

For the seven times seventh time love would renew thedelight without end or alloyThat it takes in the praise as it takes in the presence ofeyes that fulfil it with joy;But how shall it praise them and rest unrebuked by thepresence and pride of the boy?

Praise meet for a child is unmeet for an elder whosewinters and springs are nine:What song may have strength in its wings to expandthem, or light in its eyes to shine,That shall seem not as weakness and darkness if matchedwith the theme I would fain make mine?

The round little flower of a face that exults in the sun-shine of shadowless daysDefies the delight it enkindles to sing of it aught notunfit for the praiseOf the sweetest of all things that eyes may rejoice in andtremble with love as they gaze.

Such tricks and such meanings abound on the lips andthe brows that are brighter than light,The demure little chin, the sedate little nose, and theforehead of sun-stained white,That love overflows into laughter and laughter subsidesinto love at the sight.

Each limb and each feature has action in tune with themeaning that smiles as it speaksFrom the fervour of eyes and the fluttering of hands in aforetaste of fancies and freaks,When the thought of them deepens the dimples thatlaugh in the corners and curves of his cheeks.

As a bird when the music within her is yet too intense tobe spoken in song,That pauses a little for pleasure to feel how the notesfrom withinwards throng,So pauses the laugh at his lips for a little, and waxeswithin more strong.

As the music elate and triumphal that bids all things ofthe dawn bear partWith the tune that prevails when her passion has riseninto rapture of passionate art,So lightens the laughter made perfect that leaps from itsnest in the heaven of his heart.

Deep, grave and sedate is the gaze of expectant intensitybent for awhileAnd absorbed on its aim as the tale that enthralls himuncovers the weft of its wile,Till the goal of attention is touched, and expectancykisses delight in a smile.

And it seems to us here that in Paradise hardly the spiritof Lamb or of BlakeMay hear or behold aught sweeter than lightens and ringswhen his bright thoughts breakIn laughter that well might lure them to look, and tosmile as of old for his sake.

O singers that best loved children, and best for theirsakes are beloved of us here,In the world of your life everlasting, where love has nothorn and desire has no fear,All else may be sweeter than aught is on earth, noughtdearer than these are dear.