child poetry

now while my lips are living
the child who threw away leaf after leaf
though love repine, and reason chafe
the stars fell from heaven
o fair and stately maid, whose eyes
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
skies they were ashen and sober
muffled drum's sad roll has beat
beautiful
this is the song of youth
a little peach in the orchard grew
better than granite
often is it not so?
lo! 'tis a gala night