Elizabeth Barrett Browning — A Child Asleep

I.        &nbspHow he sleepeth, having drunken        &nbsp       &nbspWeary childhood's mandragore!        &nbspFrom its pretty eyes have sunken        &nbsp       &nbspPleasures to make room for more; Sleeping near the withered nosegay which he pulled the day before. II.        &nbspNosegays! leave them for the waking;        &nbsp       &nbspThrow them earthward where they grew;        &nbspDim are such beside the breaking        &nbsp       &nbspAmaranths he looks unto: Folded eyes see brighter colours than the open ever do. III.        &nbspHeaven-flowers, rayed by shadows golden        &nbsp       &nbspFrom the palms they sprang beneath,        &nbspNow perhaps divinely holden,        &nbsp       &nbspSwing against him in a wreath: We may think so from the quickening of his bloom and of his breath. IV.        &nbspVision unto vision calleth        &nbsp       &nbspWhile the young child dreameth on:        &nbspFair, O dreamer, thee befalleth        &nbsp       &nbspWith the glory thou hast won! Darker wast thou in the garden yestermorn by summer sun. V.        &nbspWe should see the spirits ringing        &nbsp       &nbspRound thee, were the clouds away:        &nbsp'T is the child-heart draws them, singing        &nbsp       &nbspIn the silent-seeming clay— Singing! stars that seem the mutest go in music all the way. VI.        &nbspAs the moths around a taper,        &nbsp       &nbspAs the bees around a rose,        &nbspAs the gnats around a vapour,        &nbsp       &nbspSo the spirits group and close Round about a holy childhood as if drinking its repose. VII.        &nbspShapes of brightness overlean thee,        &nbsp       &nbspFlash their diadems of youth        &nbspOn the ringlets which half screen thee,        &nbsp       &nbspWhile thou smilest ... not in sooth Thy smile, but the overfair one, dropt from some etherial mouth. VIII.        &nbspHaply it is angels' duty,        &nbsp       &nbspDuring slumber, shade by shade        &nbspTo fine down this childish beauty        &nbsp       &nbspTo the thing it must be made Ere the world shall bring it praises, or the tomb shall see it fade. IX.        &nbspSoftly, softly! make no noises!        &nbsp       &nbspNow he lieth dead and dumb;        &nbspNow he hears the angels' voices        &nbsp       &nbspFolding silence in the room Now he muses deep the meaning of the Heaven-words as they come. X.        &nbspSpeak not! he is consecrated;        &nbsp       &nbspBreathe no breath across his eyes:        &nbspLifted up and separated        &nbsp       &nbspOn the hand of God he lies In a sweetness beyond touching, held in cloistral sanctities. XI.        &nbspCould ye bless him, father—mother,        &nbsp       &nbspBless the dimple in his cheek?        &nbspDare ye look at one another        &nbsp       &nbspAnd the benediction speak? Would ye not break out in weeping and confess yourselves too weak? XII.        &nbspHe is harmless, ye are sinful;        &nbsp       &nbspYe are troubled, he at ease;        &nbspFrom his slumber virtue winful        &nbsp       &nbspFloweth outward with increase. Dare not bless him! but be blessèd by his peace, and go in peace.