Come to me, O ye children!
For I hear you at your play,
And the questions that perplexed me
Have vanished quite away.

Ye open the eastern windows,
That look towards the sun,
Where thoughts are singing swallows
And the brooks of morning run.

In your hearts are the birds and the sunshine,
In your thoughts the brooklet's flow,
But in mine is the wind of Autumn
And the first fall of the snow.

Ah! what would the world be to us
If the children were no more?
We should dread the desert behind us
Worse than the dark before.

What the leaves are to the forest,
With light and air for food,
Ere their sweet and tender juices
Have been hardened into wood, --

That to the world are children;
Through them it feels the glow
Of a brighter and sunnier climate
Than reaches the trunks below.

Come to me, O ye children!
And whisper in my ear
What the birds and the winds are singing
In your sunny atmosphere.

For what are all our contrivings,
And the wisdom of our books,
When compared with your caresses,
And the gladness of your looks?

Ye are better than all the ballads
That ever were sung or said;
For ye are living poems,
And all the rest are dead.

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Comments (14)

Love it. You have a lovely way with words. I aspire to cultivate similar skill.
Well done, Brian. Sorry for the delay in getting on here, but I told you I would eventually. I have block at the moment but hope to write very soon, will let you know. I have a poem which reminds me of this poem its called By Being you.0x0
Outstanding analysis, Brian. So many self appointed arbiters of good sit in the pews each weekend with their chins touching the ceiling joists. If they were to really read the passages in John and Matthew that you alluded to they would rip the subversive pages from their books.
Hi Brian, Everyone judges Brian, It's sad. It would be a great world if people accepted people for who they are but it's not like that. Everyone is competitive and it can be cruel. Excellent poem. Great message.
I could feel the tension in this one Brian, it helps to get it out, doesn't it? I especially liked the last part, isn't that called projection in pschyo babble? :) Peace, Aisha
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