A Blind Child

Her baby brother laughed last night,

The blind child asked her mother why;

It was the light that caught his eye.

Would she might laugh to see that light!

The presence of a stiffened corse

Is sad enough; but, to my mind,

The presence of a child that’s blind,

In a green garden, is far worse.

She felt my cloth—for worldly place;

She felt my face—if I was good;

My face lost more than half its blood,

For fear her hand would wrongly trace.

We’re in the garden, where are bees

And flowers, and birds, and butterflies;

One greedy fledgling runs and cries

For all the food his parent sees!

I see them all: flowers of all kind,

The sheep and cattle on the leas;

The houses up the hills, the trees—

But I am dumb, for she is blind.