Etude Realiste
A Baby's feet, like sea-shells pink,Might tempt, should heaven see meet,An angel's lips to kiss, we think,A baby's feet.
Like rose-hued sea-flowers toward the heatThey stretch and spread and winkTheir ten soft buds that part and meet.
No flower-bells that expand and shrinkGleam half so heavenly sweetAs shine on life's untrodden brinkA baby's feet.
II.
A baby's hands, like rosebuds furledWhence yet no leaf expands,Ope if you touch, though close upcurled,A baby's hands.
Then, fast as warriors grip their brandsWhen battle's bolt is hurled,They close, clenched hard like tightening bands.
No rosebuds yet by dawn impearledMatch, even in loveliest lands,The sweetest flowers in all the world -A baby's hands.
III.
A baby's eyes, ere speech begin,Ere lips learn words or sighs,Bless all things bright enough to winA baby's eyes.
Love, while the sweet thing laughs and lies,And sleep flows out and in,Sees perfect in them Paradise.
Their glance might cast out pain and sin,Their speech make dumb the wise,By mute glad godhead felt withinA baby's eyes.
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