 | The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley |  |
514
HOPE
Hope, bending o'er me one time, snowed the flakes
Of her white touches on my folded sight,
And whispered, half rebukingly, “What makes
My little girl so sorrowful to-night?”
Of her white touches on my folded sight,
And whispered, half rebukingly, “What makes
My little girl so sorrowful to-night?”
O scarce did I unclasp my lids, or lift
Their tear-glued fringes, as with blind embrace
I caught within my arms the mother-gift,
And with wild kisses dappled all her face.
Their tear-glued fringes, as with blind embrace
I caught within my arms the mother-gift,
And with wild kisses dappled all her face.
That was a baby dream of long ago:
My fate is fanged with frost, and tongued with flame:
My woman-soul, chased naked through the snow,
Stumbles and staggers on without an aim.
My fate is fanged with frost, and tongued with flame:
My woman-soul, chased naked through the snow,
Stumbles and staggers on without an aim.
And yet, here in my agony, sometimes
A faint voice reaches down from some far height,
And whispers through a glamouring of rhymes,—
“What makes my little girl so sad to-night?”
A faint voice reaches down from some far height,
And whispers through a glamouring of rhymes,—
“What makes my little girl so sad to-night?”
| The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley | |