Ewanion

A child of beauty is a joy for ever:
His loveliness increases; he will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A hope of quiet for us, and a sleep
More than two hours, with health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we feeding
In cycles that we’ve done each day from birth
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble slumber, or the gloomy days,
In hospital and o’er darkened ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
The child of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits. The sons, the daughters
Both older, younger, playing in water
And mud at home; and then the time will come
When baby too will play; and yell for Mum
When for themselves a dispute or fight make
‘Gainst one or other; next they then will play
Rich with a sprinkling of creative bloom
And such too is the grandeur of the rooms
We have imagined for our growing crew;
All lovely tales which may yet just come true:
An endless fountain of immortal love,
Pouring unto us from heaven above.

(After Endymion ).