Innocence of a Child
Ah! The meandering river behold!
Twisting and writhing, it has
trickled o’er leagues manifold.
Somewhere, a child on its banks grows.
His heart joyous, clear; it rushes,
like a mountain stream sparkling cold.
Dreary grows now the path to the Sea,
Sluggish, restrained becomes its might.
Weary of life’s toils, this old heart
yearns for a child’s pristine delight.
