  I I try to make the baby on my knee Look at the sunset; pointing where it glows Beyond the window-pane in tints of rose And violet and gold; when suddenly He dimples with responsive baby-glee, I think how wonderfully well he knows Its beauty; till the changing child-face shows He had not seen the sky, but laughed to see The sparkle of my rings;—O baby dear, This world of lovely gems and sunsets, bright With children’s faces,—is perhaps the near Though lesser glory, dazzling our poor sight, Until we cannot see, for very light, |
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