For hands but seven years old,

And they caught the tale as a bird, and felt it

More bright than visible gold.

And he drank down deep, with his eyes broad beaming,

Here in this room where I am,

The golden vintage of Shakespeare, gleaming

In the silver vessels of Lamb.

Here by my hearth where he was I listen

For the shade of the sound of a word,

Athirst for the birdlike eyes to glisten,

For the tongue to chirp like a bird.

325 At the blast of battle, how broad they brightened,

325

Like fire in the spheres of stars,

And clung to the pictured page, and lightened

As keen as the heart of Mars!

At the touch of laughter, how swift it twittered

The shrillest music on earth;

How the lithe limbs laughed and the whole child glittered

With radiant riot of mirth!

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