[S]he used her intellect, and that action is the vitality of all poetry that is not song only, but poetry and song. - Alice Meynell

Children appeal to us by a variant of the quality of pathos.

Red has been praised for its nobility as the colour of life. But the true colour of life is not red. Red is the colour of violence, or of life broken open, edited, and published. Or if red is indeed the colour of life, it is so only on condition that it is not seen. Once fully visible, red is the colour of life violated, and in the act of betrayal and of waste.

She walks—the lady of my delight— A shepherdess of sheep.
Her flocks are thoughts. She keeps them white; She guards them from the steep;
She feeds them on the fragrant height, And folds them in for sleep.