 | Poems by Elizabeth Akers (Florence Percy) |  |
31
BABYHOOD.
O baby, with your marvellous eyes,
Clear as the yet unfallen dew,
Methinks you are the only wise,—
No change can touch you with surprise,—
Nothing is strange or new to you.
Clear as the yet unfallen dew,
Methinks you are the only wise,—
No change can touch you with surprise,—
Nothing is strange or new to you.
You did not weep, when faint and weak
Grew Love's dear hand within your hold,
And, when I pressed your living check
Close down to lips which could not speak,
You did not start to find them cold.
Grew Love's dear hand within your hold,
And, when I pressed your living check
Close down to lips which could not speak,
You did not start to find them cold.
You think it morning when you wake,
That night comes when your eyelids fall,
That the winds blow, and blossoms shake,
And the sun shines for your small sake;
And, queen-like, you accept it all.
That night comes when your eyelids fall,
That the winds blow, and blossoms shake,
And the sun shines for your small sake;
And, queen-like, you accept it all.
O you are wise! you comprehend
What my slow sense may not divine,—
The sparrow is your fearless friend,
And even these pine-tassels bend
More fondly to your cheek than mine.
What my slow sense may not divine,—
32
And even these pine-tassels bend
More fondly to your cheek than mine.
When in the summer woods we walk,
All shy, sweet things commune with you:
You understand the robin's talk;
And when a flower bends its stalk,
You answer it with nod and coo.
All shy, sweet things commune with you:
You understand the robin's talk;
And when a flower bends its stalk,
You answer it with nod and coo.
Sometimes, with playful prank and wile,
As seeing what I cannot see,
You look into the air, and smile,
And murmur softly all the while
To one who speaks no word to me.
As seeing what I cannot see,
You look into the air, and smile,
And murmur softly all the while
To one who speaks no word to me.
Is it because your sacred youth
Is free from touch of time or toil?
I cannot tell;—perhaps, in sooth,
Clean hands may grasp the fair white truth
Withheld from mine through fear of soil.
Is free from touch of time or toil?
I cannot tell;—perhaps, in sooth,
Clean hands may grasp the fair white truth
Withheld from mine through fear of soil.
I guard you with a needless care,
O child, so sinlessly secure!
I see that even now you wear
A dawning glory in your hair,—
And fittingly, for you are pure:
O child, so sinlessly secure!
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A dawning glory in your hair,—
And fittingly, for you are pure:
Pure to the heart's unsullied core,
As, conscious of its spotless trust,
The lily's temple is, before
The bee profanes its marble floor,
Leaving a track of golden dust.
As, conscious of its spotless trust,
The lily's temple is, before
The bee profanes its marble floor,
Leaving a track of golden dust.
O, shield me with your light caress,
Dear heart, so stainless and so new!
Unconscious of your loveliness,
Your beauty, fresh and shadowless,
As is a violet of its blue.
Dear heart, so stainless and so new!
Unconscious of your loveliness,
Your beauty, fresh and shadowless,
As is a violet of its blue.
Perhaps through death our souls may gain
Your perfect peace, your holy rest.
Life has not vexed us all in vain,
If, after all this woe and pain,
We may be blesséd babes again,
Cradled on Love's immortal breast!
Your perfect peace, your holy rest.
Life has not vexed us all in vain,
If, after all this woe and pain,
We may be blesséd babes again,
Cradled on Love's immortal breast!
| Poems by Elizabeth Akers (Florence Percy) | |