 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
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THE INNOCENTS.
Thou wee helpless thing,
Baby,
Who could ever bring,
Baby,
Pain or sickness, want or wounds, to thee,
With the woes that follow after?
When thy dawning day should brightly be,
Ringed with rainbow of gay laughter,
Rich in happiness, and love
Fitting fair and tight,
As make pretty hand and glove
One delight.
Baby,
Who could ever bring,
Baby,
Pain or sickness, want or wounds, to thee,
With the woes that follow after?
When thy dawning day should brightly be,
Ringed with rainbow of gay laughter,
Rich in happiness, and love
Fitting fair and tight,
As make pretty hand and glove
One delight.
O sweet tender thing,
Baby,
Only made to cling,
Baby,
Round a mother's neck, and fondly frame
From the trust that passes seeing,
Wealth of rapturous union, and the same
Perfect bliss of perfect being;
Why, a burden unto some,
Dost thou suffer so,
If unwanted thou shouldst come,
But to go?
Baby,
Only made to cling,
Baby,
Round a mother's neck, and fondly frame
From the trust that passes seeing,
Wealth of rapturous union, and the same
Perfect bliss of perfect being;
Why, a burden unto some,
Dost thou suffer so,
If unwanted thou shouldst come,
But to go?
Thou soft winsome thing,
Baby,
Fashioned for a king,
Baby,
Meant to govern every human heart,
As a gentle loving tyrant,
And to lift by ways of heavenly art,
Grovelling breasts to be aspirant;
But if all unduly born,
Out of marriage tie,
Sold to fiends in kindly form,
Just to die.
Baby,
Fashioned for a king,
Baby,
Meant to govern every human heart,
As a gentle loving tyrant,
And to lift by ways of heavenly art,
Grovelling breasts to be aspirant;
But if all unduly born,
Out of marriage tie,
Sold to fiends in kindly form,
Just to die.
O dear dainty thing,
Baby,
Under death's black wing,
Baby,
Cast and cuddled on a she-wolf's breast,
Worse than the sepulchral portal,
Never now to know a moment's rest,
In that grip whose kiss is mortal;
Grudged the common meed of life,
Shared by very beast,
Slowly sapped with hungry strife,
In the feast.
Baby,
Under death's black wing,
Baby,
Cast and cuddled on a she-wolf's breast,
Worse than the sepulchral portal,
Never now to know a moment's rest,
In that grip whose kiss is mortal;
Grudged the common meed of life,
Shared by very beast,
Slowly sapped with hungry strife,
In the feast.
801
Thou bright angel thing,
Baby,
Bird-like meant to sing,
Baby,
Tunes that God Himself alone hath taught,
Who the fairest of his creatures,
Thee at first endowed, and richly wrought
With Divine and glorious features;
Born to feed, that Moloch flame
Pity cannot quell,
For the bloody gold of shame—
Pact with hell.
Baby,
Bird-like meant to sing,
Baby,
Tunes that God Himself alone hath taught,
Who the fairest of his creatures,
Thee at first endowed, and richly wrought
With Divine and glorious features;
Born to feed, that Moloch flame
Pity cannot quell,
For the bloody gold of shame—
Pact with hell.
O lost homeless thing,
Baby,
Pierced by fatal sting,
Baby,
Left by last on thy rejoicing morn,
Innocent and pure in meetness,
Rudely shaken now, and fiercely torn
Into crushed and crumpled sweetness;
Doomed by devils, who suck gain
Out of nameless woes,
From thy agonies of pain—
Dying throes.
Baby,
Pierced by fatal sting,
Baby,
Left by last on thy rejoicing morn,
Innocent and pure in meetness,
Rudely shaken now, and fiercely torn
Into crushed and crumpled sweetness;
Doomed by devils, who suck gain
Out of nameless woes,
From thy agonies of pain—
Dying throes.
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |