Not in One Clime

Not in one clime we oped the infant eye
To the blank light of yet unmeaning day;
Nor in one language timely taught to pray,
Did we lisp out the babies’ liturgy.
But even then, we both alike did sing
Our joys and sorrows in the self-same way,
Instinct the same sweet native tune did play,
From laugh to smile, from sob to chasten’d sigh,
Our tutor’d spirits were alike subdued.
What wonder, then, if, meeting in this isle,
We eke imperfect speech with sigh and smile,
The catholic speech of infancy renew’d.
True love is still a child, and then most true
When most it talks, and does as children do.