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.