 | The poems of Edmund Clarence Stedman |  |
MY GODCHILD
(TO R. K. P. D.)
Rosemary! could we give you“Remembrance,” with your name,
Ere long you'd tell us something
Of Heaven, whence you came,—
Of those enchanted meadows
Where, through the ceaseless day,
The children waiting to be born
Wonder, and sing, and play,—
And where you wandered carolling
Until the angel's hand
Closed down your eyes—then opened them
To light this earthly Land,—
This Land whereto they've sent you
To share its joy, its strife,
Its love, and learn through Womanhood
How rich, how deep, is Life.
1906.
| The poems of Edmund Clarence Stedman | |