child_of_the_pure jennifer CHILD of the pure unclouded brow And dreaming eyes of wonder! Though time be fleet, and I and thou Are half a life asunder, Thy loving smile will surely hail The love-gift of a fairy-tale. I have not seen thy sunny face, Nor heard thy silver laughter, No thought of me shall find a place In thy young life's hereafter --- Enough that now thou wilt not fail To listen to my fairy-tale. A tale begun in other days, When summer suns were glowing --- A simple chime, that served to time The rythm of out rowing --- Whose echoes live in memory yet, Though envious years would say `forget'. Come, hearken then, ere voice of dread, With bitter tidings laden, Shall summon to unwelcome bed A melancholy maiden! We are but older children, dear, Who fret to find our bedtime near. Without, the frost, the blinding snow, The strom-wind's moody madness --- Within, the firelight's ruddy glow And childhood's nest of gladness. The magic words shall hold thee fast: Thou shalt not heed the raving blast. And though the shadow of a sigh May tremble through the story, For `happy summer days' gone by, And vanish'd summer glory --- It shall not touch with breath of bale The pleasance of our fairy-tale. ~~Lewis Carroll 000109 ... amy somehow, my instincts are warped so that i don't touch what seems too pure to me. maybe i am afraid that i will damage it. 000226 ... acuhymen i do not touch what i admire, what i find pure bright whatever you wish to call that feeling because i might stretch to reach it, but never touch it, and in trying, fall on my face, break my nose. and once you touch the pure, how can you ever be content with the impure? life will spiral into a desperate attempt to regain that which you once touched. 000226 what's it to you? who go blather from