 | Poems by Elizabeth Akers (Florence Percy) |  |
180
CRADLE-TIME.
The glory of the sunset fades away
From the tall church-spires of the darkening town,
And on the waters of the western bay
The orange tints are sobering to brown.
From the tall church-spires of the darkening town,
And on the waters of the western bay
The orange tints are sobering to brown.
This is the hour when the fond mother folds
Her infant closely to her pillowing breast,
And, kissing oft the little hand she holds,
Sings dreamily, and lulls her babe to rest.
Her infant closely to her pillowing breast,
And, kissing oft the little hand she holds,
Sings dreamily, and lulls her babe to rest.
For me, I hold all Fate has left to me,—
A little golden ripple of fair hair;—
I lay it on my bosom tenderly,
And try to think my baby nestles there.
A little golden ripple of fair hair;—
I lay it on my bosom tenderly,
And try to think my baby nestles there.
O golden hair! Where is the shining head,
The baby brow which once you used to crown?
The tender eyes, with all their love unsaid,
Into whose depths my yearning soul looked down?
The baby brow which once you used to crown?
The tender eyes, with all their love unsaid,
Into whose depths my yearning soul looked down?
181
O happy mother! through your window there
I see you clasp and kiss your little child,—
Its white arms wound amid your tresses fair:
And how, O how shall I be reconciled?
I see you clasp and kiss your little child,—
Its white arms wound amid your tresses fair:
And how, O how shall I be reconciled?
The small, soft hands which tangled down my hair
Are folded from their play forevermore,
The rosy feet which pattered here and there
Have danced their last across this silent floor.
Are folded from their play forevermore,
The rosy feet which pattered here and there
Have danced their last across this silent floor.
The dainty robes are folded smooth and clean,
The half-worn shoes stand empty, side by side;
The basket that she heaped her playthings in
Lies half-filled, as she left it when she died.
The half-worn shoes stand empty, side by side;
The basket that she heaped her playthings in
Lies half-filled, as she left it when she died.
The pot of flowers she carried to and fro,
Or placed among her toys upon the floor,
Thrives undisturbed; though fair the blossoms blow,
No sweet voice coaxes for them any more.
Or placed among her toys upon the floor,
Thrives undisturbed; though fair the blossoms blow,
No sweet voice coaxes for them any more.
These are her finger-marks upon the pane,—
I guard them with a jealous carefulness;
And this dear pictured face still keeps its stain,—
The misty halo of her frequent kiss.
I guard them with a jealous carefulness;
And this dear pictured face still keeps its stain,—
The misty halo of her frequent kiss.
182
And in these rooms where once her sweet voice rung,
Now soaring loud, now softly murmuring,
There floats the echo of a song half sung,—
The last my darling ever tried to sing.
Now soaring loud, now softly murmuring,
There floats the echo of a song half sung,—
The last my darling ever tried to sing.
But you, aflush with happy motherhood,
Your child alive and warm upon your arm,—
You look across into my solitude,
And tell me I must be resigned and calm;—
Your child alive and warm upon your arm,—
You look across into my solitude,
And tell me I must be resigned and calm;—
That God is good and kind, despite my grief;
That He has saved my babe from pain and woe,
And she is blest. Help Thou mine unbelief,
O Healer! But I would that I could know
That He has saved my babe from pain and woe,
And she is blest. Help Thou mine unbelief,
O Healer! But I would that I could know
On what fair angel-bosom rests to-night
The tender cheek I touched so reverently,—
What white-robed spirit robs me of my right,
And takes my baby's kiss away from me.
The tender cheek I touched so reverently,—
What white-robed spirit robs me of my right,
And takes my baby's kiss away from me.
| Poems by Elizabeth Akers (Florence Percy) | |