To a Young Child

As doth his heart who travels far from home Leap up whenever he by chance doth see One from his mother-country lately come, Friend from my home—thus do I welcome thee. Thou art so late arrived that I the tale Of thy high lineage on thy brow can trace, And almost feel the breath of that soft gale That wafted thee unto this desert place, And half can hear those ravishing sounds that flowed From out Heaven’s gate when it was oped for thee, That thou awhile mightst leave thy bright abode Amid these lone and desolate tracks to be A homesick, weary wanderer, and then Return unto thy native land again.