Charles! my slow heart was only sad, when first
I scanned that face of feeble infancy;
For dimly on my thoughtful spirit burst
All I had been, and all my babe might be!
But when I saw it on its Mother’s arm,
And hanging at her bosom (she the while
Bent o’er its features with a tearful smile),
Then I was thrilled and melted, and most warm
Impressed a Father’s kiss: and all beguiled
Of dark remembrance, and presageful fear,
I seemed to see an Angel’s form appear–
‘Twas even thine, beloved Woman mild!
So for the Mother’s sake the Child was dear,
And dearer was the Mother for the Child.
Sonnet XIX. To A Friend, Who Asked How I Felt When The Nurse First Presented My Infant To Me
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