 | Denzil place |  |
He look'd towards the cradle, where the babe
With upturn'd face of lily fairness, slept
The sleep of innocence; in vain he strove
To trace some likeness to his buried love
In those impassive features, scarcely yet
Deserving such a name;—the fast closed eyes
Wanting as yet the mother's silken fringe
Of curling eyelashes on either lid—
The open mouth, a tiny triangle,
He bent to kiss, but tho' he seem'd to breathe
The perfume of the blue starch-hyacinth,
Yet nothing met the longing of his lips
Of her—his wife—the mother of his child!
Then, half in anger with the helpless cause
Of his chang'd life, and wholly in despair,
He cover'd with his hands his haggard face
And knew the bitterest of human griefs.
With upturn'd face of lily fairness, slept
The sleep of innocence; in vain he strove
To trace some likeness to his buried love
In those impassive features, scarcely yet
Deserving such a name;—the fast closed eyes
236
Of curling eyelashes on either lid—
The open mouth, a tiny triangle,
He bent to kiss, but tho' he seem'd to breathe
The perfume of the blue starch-hyacinth,
Yet nothing met the longing of his lips
Of her—his wife—the mother of his child!
Then, half in anger with the helpless cause
Of his chang'd life, and wholly in despair,
He cover'd with his hands his haggard face
And knew the bitterest of human griefs.
| Denzil place | |