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By Joanna Baillie

Child, with many a childish wile,

Timid look, and blushing smile,

Downy wings to steal thy way,

Gilded bow, and quiver gay,

Who in thy simple mien would trace

The tyrant of the human race?


Who is he whose flinty heart

Hath not felt the flying dart?

Who is he that from the wound

Hath not pain and pleasure found?

Who is he that hath not shed

Curse and blessing on thy head?


  • Love

Poet Bio

Joanna Baillie
The daughter of a Church of Scotland minister, Romantic poet and playwright Joanna Baillie grew up in rural Scotland and spent much of her adult life in Hampstead, just outside London. Baillie’s lyric poems often take the form of meditations on nature and youth.

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