Mary Lamb: A Child
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A Child

1765-1847


A CHILD 's a plaything for an hour;
         Its pretty tricks we try
For that or for a longer space--
         Then tire, and lay it by.

But I knew one that to itself
         All seasons could control;
That would have mock'd the sense of pain
         Out of a grieved soul.

Thou straggler into loving arms,
         Young climber-up of knees,
When I forget thy thousand ways
         Then life and all shall cease.


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DayPoems Poem No. 463



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The DayPoems web site, www.daypoems.net, is copyright 2001-2005 by Timothy K. Bovee. All rights reserved.

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