thing

Who yet, at least, can think of nothing wrong.

My business is to suck, and sleep, and fling

The cradle-clothes about me all day long,

Or, half-asleep, hear my sweet mother sing

And to be washed in water clean and warm

And hushed and kissed and kept secure from harm.'"

   *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Subdued the strong Latonian, by the might

Of winning music, to his mightier will.

His left hand held the lyre, and in his right

The plectrum struck the chords: unconquerable

Up from beneath his hand in circling flight

The gathering music rose—and sweet as Love

The penetrating notes did live and move

Listened with all his soul, and laughed for pleasure.

Close to his side stood harping fearlessly

The unabashèd boy, and to the measure

Of the sweet lyre there followed loud and free

His joyous voice: for he unlocked the treasure

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