The Poet and the Child

“and you, Sir Poet, shall you make, I pray,   This child a poet with that insight rare   They tell me poets have, that everywhere He sees new beauties lost to common clay?” “Nay,” said the poet, “rather lend the boy   Your scarf of gauze, to veil his questioning eye,   Lest in his pleasure he should aught descry But what is fair; so shall he much enjoy.” She lightly laughed as she regained the band   Now strolling on (to her it seemed a jest   Turned for her pleasure); but behind the rest The poet and the child walked hand in hand.