Etude Realiste

I.     A Baby's feet, like sea-shells pink,     Might tempt, should heaven see meet,     An angel's lips to kiss, we think,     A baby's feet.     Like rose-hued sea-flowers toward the heat     They stretch and spread and wink     Their ten soft buds that part and meet.     No flower-bells that expand and shrink     Gleam half so heavenly sweet     As shine on life's untrodden brink     A baby's feet. II.     A baby's hands, like rosebuds furled     Whence yet no leaf expands,     Ope if you touch, though close upcurled,     A baby's hands.     Then, fast as warriors grip their brands     When battle's bolt is hurled,     They close, clenched hard like tightening bands.     No rosebuds yet by dawn impearled     Match, even in loveliest lands,     The sweetest flowers in all the world -     A baby's hands. III.     A baby's eyes, ere speech begin,     Ere lips learn words or sighs,     Bless all things bright enough to win     A baby's eyes.     Love, while the sweet thing laughs and lies,     And sleep flows out and in,     Sees perfect in them Paradise.     Their glance might cast out pain and sin,     Their speech make dumb the wise,     By mute glad godhead felt within     A baby's eyes.