Explore "To a Bush-Baby" by Frederic Manning on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Little one, so soft and light, / Haunting silent, darkened ways, / In the shadow of the night, / Thee I praise.
Such an elf as danced of old, / Light as thistle-down or froth, / By Titania's throne of gold, / Little Moth.
What strange fate linked thee and me, / In this world of hope and fears?
Surely God hath sheltered thee / From our tears.
Hands thou hast, and eyes that seem / Troubled, by some pain obscure, / As though life were but a dream, / Nothing sure.
Is thy tiny spirit vext, / As our own, by vague distress, / Haunted, by our life's perplext / Weariness?
Wondering, at all the strange / Loveliness of lapsing days; / Change that passeth into change, / Rain or rays?
Little hands that cling to me, / Helpless as mine own, and weak, / What in this world's mystery / Do we seek?