 | At Sunset |  |
107
FROM MY NURSERY
FORTY-SIX YEARS AGO
When I was a little child,
Said my passionate nurse, and wild:
“Wash you, children, clean and white;
God may call you any night.”
Said my passionate nurse, and wild:
“Wash you, children, clean and white;
God may call you any night.”
Close my tender brother clung,
While I said with doubtful tongue:
“No, we cannot die so soon;
For you told, the other noon,
While I said with doubtful tongue:
“No, we cannot die so soon;
For you told, the other noon,
Of those months in order fine
That should make the earth divine.
I've not seen, scarce five years old,
Months like those of which you told.”
That should make the earth divine.
I've not seen, scarce five years old,
Months like those of which you told.”
Softly, then, the woman's hand
Loosed my frock from silken band,
Tender smoothed the fiery head,
Often shamed for ringlets red.
Somewhat gently did she say,
“Child, those months are every day.”
Loosed my frock from silken band,
Tender smoothed the fiery head,
Often shamed for ringlets red.
Somewhat gently did she say,
“Child, those months are every day.”
108
Still, methinks, I wait in fear,
For that wonder-glorious year—
For a spring without a storm,
Summer honey-dewed and warm,
Autumn of robuster strength,
Winter piled in crystal length.
For that wonder-glorious year—
For a spring without a storm,
Summer honey-dewed and warm,
Autumn of robuster strength,
Winter piled in crystal length.
I will wash me clean and white;
God may call me any night.
I must tell him when I go
His great year is yet to know—
Year when workings of the race
Shall match Creation's dial face;
Each hour be born of music's chime,
And Truth eternal told in Time.
God may call me any night.
I must tell him when I go
His great year is yet to know—
Year when workings of the race
Shall match Creation's dial face;
Each hour be born of music's chime,
And Truth eternal told in Time.
| At Sunset | |