 | The poet, the fool and the faeries |  |
161
THE MOTHER
My little boy, who used to run
With glad hair blowing in the sun,
Where runs he now?
Where runs he now?—
In fairer fields than these, that blow
The withered blooms of long-ago,
That soon shall whiten with the snow
As does my brow;
As does my brow.
With glad hair blowing in the sun,
Where runs he now?
Where runs he now?—
In fairer fields than these, that blow
The withered blooms of long-ago,
That soon shall whiten with the snow
As does my brow;
As does my brow.
My little boy, the sweet of tongue,
Who leapt and laughed, and joyed and sung,
Where sings he now?
Where sings he now?—
In some bright place where children meet,
And lullabies of love repeat,
That break my heart's remembering beat
With tears somehow;
With tears somehow.
Who leapt and laughed, and joyed and sung,
Where sings he now?
Where sings he now?—
In some bright place where children meet,
And lullabies of love repeat,
That break my heart's remembering beat
With tears somehow;
With tears somehow.
My little boy, who used to play
With happy eyes the livelong day,
Where plays he now?
Where plays he now?—
With fairer playthings there than those
That broken in their box repose,
As in my breast the hopes, God knows,
O'er which I bow;
O'er which I bow.
With happy eyes the livelong day,
Where plays he now?
Where plays he now?—
162
That broken in their box repose,
As in my breast the hopes, God knows,
O'er which I bow;
O'er which I bow.
My little boy, who sat to hear
The wonder tales to him so dear,
Where harks he now?
Where harks he now?—
Haply in that fair world he knew
Of faery where all dreams come true
As here on earth they never do,
Alas! somehow;
Alas! somehow.
The wonder tales to him so dear,
Where harks he now?
Where harks he now?—
Haply in that fair world he knew
Of faery where all dreams come true
As here on earth they never do,
Alas! somehow;
Alas! somehow.
| The poet, the fool and the faeries | |