Classic Poem

Of Robin Redbreast's babes I told,
Who perish'd in the wood:
My listener was five years' old,
The first-born of my blood.

His dear head has the shape of mine,
And like his young heart seems:
I seek by Symbols to divine
His fate, and lapse in dreams.
He is yon river's wavering line,
In darkness, & in beams.