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Samuel Taylor Coleridge - On The Christening Of A Friend`s Child
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This day among the faithful placed,
  And fed with fontal manna,
O with maternal title graced
  Dear Anna`s dearest Anna!--

While others wish thee wise and fair,
  A maid of spotless fame,
I`ll breathe this more compendious prayer--
  May`st thou deserve thy name!

Thy mother`s name--a potent spell,
  That bids the virtues hie
From mystic grove and living cell
  Confess`d to fancy`s eye;--

Meek quietness without offence;
  Content in homespun kirtle;
True love; and true love`s innocence,
  White blossom of the myrtle!

Associates of thy name, sweet child!
  These virtues may`st thou win;
With face as eloquently mild
  To say, they lodge within.

So, when her tale of days all flown,
  Thy mother shall be mist here;
When Heaven at length shall claim its own,
  And angels snatch their sister;

Some hoary-headed friend, perchance,
  May gaze with stifled breath;
And oft, in momentary trance,
  Forget the waste of death.

Ev`n thus a lovely rose I view`d,
  In summer-swelling pride;
Nor mark`d the bud, that green and rude
  Peep`d at the rose`s side.

It chanced, I pass`d again that way
  In autumn`s latest hour,
And wond`ring saw the selfsame spray
  Rich with the selfsame flower.

Ah, fond deceit! the rude green bud
  Alike in shape, place, name,
Had bloom`d, where bloom`d its parent stud,
  Another and the same!
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