The Play-Ground

When painfully athwart my brain

Dark thoughts come crowding on,

And, sick of worldly hollwness,

My heart feels sad or lone-

Then out  upon the green I walk,

Just ere the close of day,

And swift I ween the sight I view

Clears all my gloom away.

For there I see young chidren -

The cheeriest thing on earth -

I see them play - I hear their tones

Of loud and reckless mirth.

And many a clear and flute-like laugh

Comes ringing through the air;

And many a roguish, flashing eye,

And rich red cheek, are there.

O, lovely, happy children!

I am with you in my soul;

I shout - I strike the ball with you -

With you I race and roll. -

Methinks white-winged angels,

Floating unseen the while,

Hover around this village green,

And pleansantly they smile.

O, angels! guard these children!

Keep grief and guilt away:

From earthly harm - from evil thoughts

O, shield them night and day!

Walt Whitman  The Complete Poems   (Penguin Classics)