This brings me to another poem found amongst my mothers’ things.
Again, it was only a little snippets of the whole, which makes me wonder whether she knew of the whole poem or whether they were just her favorite lines.
To a Child
by Christopher Morley
The greatest poem ever known
Is one all poets have outgrown:
The poetry, innate, untold,
Of being only four years old.
Still young enough to be a part
Of Nature’s great impulsive heart,
Born comrade of bird, beast and tree
And unselfconscious as the bee
And yet with lovely reason skilled
Each day new paradise to build;
Elate explorer of each sense,
Without dismay, without pretense!
In your untrained transparent eyes
There is no conscious, no surprise:
Life’s queer conundrums you accept,
Your strange divinity still kept.
Being, that now absorbs you, all
Harmonious, unit, integral,
Will shred into perplexing bits,
Oh, contradictions of the the wits!
And life, that sets all things in rhyme,
May make you poet, too, in time
But there were days, O tender elf,
When you were Poetry itself!