Song for a Man-Child

Little man-child in repose,

I would golden-thread your woes,

Give to you a thornless rose;

Spare you from each harmful thing,

From the bee would take its sting;

Beg time's hand with gentle touch

Hold your dreams from shattering,

Keep for you a brimming hutch ...

Yet I dare not ask too much

Tragic would it be to shield

From the world that calls to wield

Strength to bid the battlefield

Bloom with lilies ... Grow! Rescind

War, my son, love-disciplined.

Eaglet, try your wings! Be free!

Loose the Master's winnowing wind!

Lest the earth should, dying, see

Even babes in agony.