CHILD, when they say that others br Have been or are like you, br Babes fit to be your brothers, br Sweet human drops of dew, br Bright fruit of mortal mothers, br What should one say or do? br br We know the thought is treason, br We feel the dream absurd; br A claim rebuked of reason, br That withers at a word: br For never shone the season br That bore so blithe a bird. br br Some smiles may seem as merry, br Some glances gleam as wise, br From lips as like a cherry br And scarce less gracious eyes; br Eyes browner than a berry, br Lips red as morning's rise. br br But never yet rang laughter br So sweet in gladdened ears br Through wall and floor and rafter br As all this household hears br And rings response thereafter br Till cloudiest weather clears. br br When those your chosen of all men, br Whose honey never cloys, br Two lights whose smiles enthrall men, br Were called at your age boys, br Those mighty men, while small men, br Could make no merrier noise. br br Our Shakespeare, surely, daffed not br More lightly pain aside br From radiant lips that quaffed not br Of forethought's tragic tide: br Our Dickens, doubtless, laughed not br More loud with life's first pride. br br The dawn were not more cheerless br With neither light nor dew br Than we without the fearless br Clear laugh that thrills us through: br If ever child stood peerless, br Love knows that child is you.