The Infant M---- M----
Unquiet Childhood here by special grace Forgets her nature, opening like a flower That neither feeds nor wastes its vital power In painful struggles. Months each other chase, And nought untunes that Infant's voice; no trace Of fretful temper sullies her pure cheek; Prompt, lively, self-sufficing, yet so meek That one enrapt with gazing on her face (Which even the placid innocence of death Could scarcely make more placid, heaven more bright) Might learn to picture, for the eye of faith, The Virgin, as she shone with kindred light; A nursling couched upon her mother's knee, Beneath some shady palm of Galilee.
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"Unquiet Childhood here by special grace..."
William Wordsworth's contribution to classic is further solidified by the brilliance found in "The Infant M---- M----"... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...