After a Reading
For the seven times seventh time love would renew the
delight without end or alloy
That it takes in the praise as it takes in the presence of eyes that fulfil
it with joy;
But how shall it praise them and rest unrebuked by the presence and pride
of the boy?
Praise meet for a child is unmeet for an elder whose winters and springs
are nine:
What song may have strength in its wings to expand them, or light in its
eyes to shine,
That shall seem not as weakness and darkness if matched with the theme I
would fain make mine?
The round little flower of a face that exults in the sunshine of shadowless
days
Defies the delight it enkindles to sing of it aught not unfit for the
praise
Of the sweetest of all things that eyes may rejoice in and tremble with
love as they gaze.
Such tricks and such meanings abound on the lips and the brows that are
brighter than light,
The demure little chin, the sedate little nose, and the forehead of
sun-stained white,
That love overflows into laughter and laughter subsides into love at the
sight.
Each limb and each feature has action in tune with the meaning that smiles
as it speaks
From the fervour of eyes and the fluttering of hands in a foretaste of
fancies and freaks,
When the thought of them deepens the dimples that laugh in the corners and
curves of his cheeks.
As a bird when the music within her is yet too intense to be spoken in
song,
That pauses a little for pleasure to feel how the notes from withinwards
throng,
So pauses the laugh at his lips for a little, and waxes within more
strong.
As the music elate and triumphal that bids all things of the dawn bear
part
With the tune that prevails when her passion has risen into rapture of
passionate art,
So lightens the laughter made perfect that leaps from its nest in the
heaven of his heart.
Deep, grave and sedate is the gaze of expectant intensity bent for awhile
And absorbed on its aim as the tale that enthralls him uncovers the weft
of its wile,
Till the goal of attention is touched, and expectancy kisses delight in a
smile.
And it seems to us here that in Paradise hardly the spirit of Lamb or of
Blake
May hear or behold aught sweeter than lightens and rings when his bright
thoughts break
In laughter that well might lure them to look, and to smile as of old for
his sake.
O singers that best loved children, and best for their sakes are beloved
of us here,
In the world of your life everlasting, where love has no thorn and desire
has no fear,
All else may be sweeter than aught is on earth, nought dearer than these
are dear.