One thing yet there is, that none
Hearing ere its chime be done
Knows not well the sweetest one
Heard of man beneath the sun,

Hoped in heaven hereafter;
Soft and strong and loud and light,
Very sound of very light

Heard from morning's rosiest height, -
When the soul of all delight

Fills a child's clear laughter.
Golden bells of welcome rolled
Never forth such notes, nor told
Hours so blithe in tones so bold,
As the radiant mouth of gold

Here that rings forth heaven.
If the golden-crested wren
Were a nightingale —why, then
Something seen and heard of men
Might be half as sweet as when

Laughs a child of seven.

CHILD AND POET
(1882)

You send me your love in a letter,
I send you my love in a song:
Ah child, your gift is the better,
Mine does you but wrong.

No fame, were the best less brittle,
No praise, were it wide as earth,
Is worth so much as a little

Child's love may be worth.

We see the children above us

As they might angels above:

Come back to us, child, if you love us, And bring us your love.

THE ROUNDEL (1883)

15

20

25

30

5

10

A roundel is wrought as a ring or a starbright sphere,

With craft of delight and with cunning of sound unsought,

That the heart of the hearer may smile if

to pleasure his ear

A roundel is wrought.