To R. L. S.
A child, Curious and innocent, Slips from his Nurse, and rejoicing Loses himself in the Fair.
Thro' the jostle and din Wandering, he revels, Dreaming, desiring, possessing;
Till, of a sudden Tired and afraid, he beholds The sordid assemblage Just as it is; and he runs With a sob to his Nurse (Lighting at last on him), And in her motherly bosom Cries him to sleep.
Thus thro' the World, Seeing and feeling and knowing, Goes Man: till at last, Tired of experience, he turns To the friendly and comforting breast Of the old nurse, Death.
1876
