A Child Screening A Dove From A Hawk. By Stewardson


AY, screen thy favourite dove, fair child,
Ay, screen it if you may,–
Yet I misdoubt thy trembling hand
Will scare the hawk away.

That dove will die, that child will weep,–
Is this their destinie?
Ever amid the sweets of life
Some evil thing must be.

Ay, moralize,–is it not thus
We’ve mourn’d our hope and love?
Alas! there’s tears for every eye,
A hawk for every dove!

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