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Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton - To Ferdinand Seymour
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ROSY child, with forehead fair, 
Coral lip, and shining hair, 
In whose mirthful, clever eyes 
Such a world of gladness lies; 
As thy loose curls idly straying 
O`er thy mother`s cheek, while playing, 
Blend her soft lock`s shadowy twine 
With the glittering light of thine,-- 
Who shall say, who gazes now, 
Which is fairest, she or thou? 

In sweet contrast are ye met, 
Such as heart could ne`er forget: 
Thou art brilliant as a flower, 
Crimsoning in the sunny hour; 
Merry as a singing-bird, 
In the green wood sweetly heard; 

Restless as if fluttering wings 
Bore thee on thy wanderings; 
Ignorant of all distress, 
Full of childhood`s carelessness. 

She is gentle; she hath known 
Something of the echoed tone 
Sorrow leaves, where`er it goes, 
In this world of many woes. 
On her brow such shadows are 
As the faint cloud gives the star, 
Veiling its most holy light, 
Tho` it still be pure and bright; 
And the colour in her cheek 
To the hue on thine is weak, 
Save when flush`d with sweet surprise, 
Sudden welcomes light her eyes; 
And her softly chisel`d face 
(But for living, moving grace) 
Looks like one of those which beam 
In th` Italian painter`s dream,-- 
Some beloved Madonna, bending 
O`er the infant she is tending; 

Holy, bright, and undefiled 
Mother of the Heaven-born child; 
Who, tho` painted strangely fair, 
Seems but made for holy prayer, 
Pity, tears, and sweet appeal, 
And fondness such as angels feel; 
Baffling earthly passion`s sigh 
With serenest majesty! 

Oh! may those enshrouded years 
Whose fair dawn alone appears,-- 
May that brightly budding life, 
Knowing yet not sin nor strife,-- 
Bring its store of hoped-for joy, 
Mother, to thy laughing boy! 
And the good thou dost impart 
Lies deep-treasured in his heart, 
That, when he at length shall strive 
In the bad world where we live, 
THY sweet name may still be blest 
As one who taught his soul true rest!
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