From "The Sinless Child"

Her ways were gentle while a babe,   With calm and tranquil eye, That turned instinctively to seek   The blueness of the sky. A holy smile was on her lip   Whenever sleep was there; She slept, as sleeps the blossom, hushed   Amid the silent air. And ere she left with tottling steps   The low-roofed cottage door, The beetle and the cricket loved   The young child on the floor; For every insect dwelt secure   Where little Eva played, And piped for her its blithest song   When she in greenwood strayed. With wing of gauze and mailëd coat   They gathered round her feet, Rejoiced, as are all gladsome things,   A truthful soul to greet. They taught her infant lips to sing   With them a hymn of praise, The song that in the woods is heard,   Through the long summer days. And everywhere the child was traced   By snatches of wild song That marked her feet along the vale   Or hillside, fleet and strong. She knew the haunts of every bird—   Where bloomed the sheltered flower, So sheltered that the searching frost   Might scarcely find its bower. No loneliness young Eva knew,   Though playmates she had none: Such sweet companionship was hers,   She could not be alone; For everything in earth or sky   Caressed the little child,— The joyous bird upon the wing,   The blossom in the wild. Much dwelt she on the green hill-side,   And under forest tree; Beside the running, babbling brook,   Where lithe trout sported free. She saw them dart, like stringëd gems,   Where the tangled roots were deep, And learned that love forevermore   The heart will joyful keep. She loved all simple flowers that spring   In grove or sunlit dell, And of each streak and varied hue   Would pretty meanings tell. For her a language was impressed   On every leaf that grew, And lines revealing brighter worlds   That seraph fingers drew. The opening bud that lightly swung   Upon the dewy air, Moved in its very sportiveness   Beneath angelic care; She saw that pearly fingers oped   Each curved and painted leaf, And where the canker-worm had been   Were looks of angel grief. Each tiny leaf became a scroll   Inscribed with holy truth, A lesson that around the heart   Should keep the dew of youth, Bright missals from angelic throngs   In every byway left:— How were the earth of glory shorn,   Were it of flowers bereft! Young Eva said all noisome weeds   Would pass from earth away, When virtue in the human heart   Held its predestined sway. Exalted thoughts were always hers,   Some deemed them strange and wild; And hence, in all the hamlets round,   Her name of Sinless Child.