How innocent, how beautiful thy sleep!
Sweet one, 'tis peace and joy to gaze on thee!
Thy summer sports, thy cloudless gaiety,
Are hush'd in slumber; but there lingers still
A smile upon thy lips, like the young day,
Flinging its sunlight o'er the half-blown rose;
Thy laughing eyes are clos'd, while the dark lash
Rests on thy dimpled cheek, where health has shed
Its liveliest carnation; unconfin'd,
Like golden clusters, shadowing thy face,
Thy chesnut curls twine round thy little arm,
Half hidden by the violets, which breathe
Their fragrance o'er thy head; thy snowy brow
Is clear and open as a shadeless sky:
There are no records there to tell of griefs,
That came like blights in spring, or winter storms
Of tortured feelings, withering cares and joys,
Whose end was bitterness; but here are found
Pure innocence and love, and happiness.