My fairest child, I have no song to give you;
No lark could pipe in skies so dull and gray;
Yet, if you will, one quiet hint I'll leave you,
For every day.
I'll tell you how to sing a clearer carol
Than lark who hails the dawn or breezy down;
To earn yourself a purer poet's laurel
Than Shakespeare's crown.
Be good, sweet maid, and let who can be clever;
Do lovely things, not dream them, all day long;
And so make Life, and Death, and that For Ever,
One grand sweet song.
Another homily for the beloved child- but delivered in gentle sweet words
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Who was C.E.G? This was a favourite poem of my grandmothers when she was young. Her initials then were C.E.S but when she married they became C.E.G: -)