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 | An idyl of work |  |
The years had dwelt with her most peacefully,
Each one a guest more welcome than the last;
And why the ripening of her days should be
Clouded with vain regrets for blossom-time,
As with some women, she had seen no cause,
With autumn in her heart surpassing spring
In subtle fragrance and perennial bloom.
Yet motherhood, a fountain sealed within,
Sometimes made lonesome music, and she longed
For those who needed her caress, her close
And separate overwatch of yearning care.
Each one a guest more welcome than the last;
And why the ripening of her days should be
Clouded with vain regrets for blossom-time,
As with some women, she had seen no cause,
With autumn in her heart surpassing spring
In subtle fragrance and perennial bloom.
Yet motherhood, a fountain sealed within,
Sometimes made lonesome music, and she longed
For those who needed her caress, her close
And separate overwatch of yearning care.
| An idyl of work | |