Written by the same lady on seeing her two sons <br />at play. <br />SWEET age of bless'd delusion! blooming boys, <br />Ah! revel long in childhood's thoughtless joys, <br />With light and pliant spirits, that can stoop <br />To follow, sportively, the rolling hoop; <br /> <br />To watch the sleeping top with gay delight, <br />Or mark, with raptured gaze, the sailing kite; <br />Or, eagerly pursuing Pleasure's call, <br />Can find it center'd in the bounding ball. <br />Alas! the day will come, when sports like these <br />Must lose their magic, and their power to please: <br />Too swiftly fled, the rosy hours of youth <br />Shall yield their fairy charms to mournful Truth; <br />Even now, a mother's fond prophetic fear <br />Sees the dark train of human ills appear; <br />Views various fortune for each lovely child, <br />Storms for the bold, and anguish for the mild; <br />Beholds already those expressive eyes <br />Beam a sad certainty of future sighs; <br />And dreads each suffering those dear breasts may know <br />In their long passage through a world of woe; <br />Perchance predestined every pang to prove, <br />That treacherous friends inflict, or faithless love; <br />For, ah! how few have found existence sweet, <br />Where grief is sure, but happiness deceit.<br /><br />Charlotte Smith<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/verses-iii/
