 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
BABY LIPS.
Dost thou know the whisper of the waters,
Hast thou heard the babble of the brooks,
Low sweet laugh of innocence's daughters,
Murmuring love in shy and shadowy nooks?
Dost thou know, when bruised thy heart is sorest,
Message of the pines in sunset lands,
Secret of the old enchanted forest,
Waving in the dusk strange awful hands?
Then hast thou heard something of the story,
Soft as sleep that on the bosom slips,
Young as spring, and yet as hill-tops hoary,
Breathed so artlessly by baby lips.
Hast thou heard the babble of the brooks,
Low sweet laugh of innocence's daughters,
Murmuring love in shy and shadowy nooks?
Dost thou know, when bruised thy heart is sorest,
Message of the pines in sunset lands,
Secret of the old enchanted forest,
Waving in the dusk strange awful hands?
Then hast thou heard something of the story,
Soft as sleep that on the bosom slips,
Young as spring, and yet as hill-tops hoary,
Breathed so artlessly by baby lips.
All that is most sacred and most solemn,
All of beauty flitting to and fro,
Subtle as the carving on a column
Great with mysteries of long ago;
Told in twilight, when the doorways darken,
Calm the moon through curtained window looks,
Unto breasts that tremble as they hearken,
Records written not in earthly books;
All the tender sweetness plucked from sorrow,
All the sadness of which pleasure sips,
Dim to-day and promise of bright morrow,
Meet in melody on baby lips.
All of beauty flitting to and fro,
Subtle as the carving on a column
Great with mysteries of long ago;
Told in twilight, when the doorways darken,
Calm the moon through curtained window looks,
Unto breasts that tremble as they hearken,
Records written not in earthly books;
All the tender sweetness plucked from sorrow,
All the sadness of which pleasure sips,
Dim to-day and promise of bright morrow,
Meet in melody on baby lips.
Ah, they talk a language high, but hidden
Deep from sordid ears that deafer grow,
Mocked by brutal mouths, and roughly chidden
Down by lives that cling to strains below;
Ignorant of sin, their lonely station
Prisoned close with ugly bolts and bounds,
But so faithful with their revelation,
Breaking through the night of savage sounds;
Rich in human hope, and mortal leaven
Dear as dew that from the rosebud drips,
Mixed with music only heard in heaven,
Only spoken by pure baby lips.
Deep from sordid ears that deafer grow,
Mocked by brutal mouths, and roughly chidden
Down by lives that cling to strains below;
Ignorant of sin, their lonely station
Prisoned close with ugly bolts and bounds,
But so faithful with their revelation,
Breaking through the night of savage sounds;
Rich in human hope, and mortal leaven
Dear as dew that from the rosebud drips,
Mixed with music only heard in heaven,
Only spoken by pure baby lips.
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Still they give the grandeur of their message
Undefiled, in all the dirt and dust
Glooming round them, with its glorious presage,
Prattling gently on because they must;
Singing truth, that hath foundation surer
Far than hideous dregs of lust and lies,
And for souls unclean a garment purer,
Wrought of snow and azure from the skies;
Unregarded, yet for ever pointing
Homeward, as to harbour speed the ships,
Till, long set apart by God's anointing,
Blend with angel songs the baby lips.
Undefiled, in all the dirt and dust
Glooming round them, with its glorious presage,
Prattling gently on because they must;
Singing truth, that hath foundation surer
Far than hideous dregs of lust and lies,
And for souls unclean a garment purer,
Wrought of snow and azure from the skies;
Unregarded, yet for ever pointing
Homeward, as to harbour speed the ships,
Till, long set apart by God's anointing,
Blend with angel songs the baby lips.
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |