XXIX
To R. L. S.
A CHILD,Curious and innocent,Slips from his Nurse, and rejoicingLoses himself in the Fair.
Thro’ the jostle and dinWandering, he revels,Dreaming, desiring, possessing;Till, of a suddenTired and afraid, he beholdsThe sordid assemblageJust as it is; and he runsWith a sob to his Nurse(Lighting at last on him),And in her motherly bosomCries him to sleep.
Thus thro’ the World,Seeing and feeling and knowing,Goes Man: till at last,Tired of experience, he turnsTo the friendly and comforting breastOf the old nurse, Death.
1876