 | Anyta and other poems |  |
127
THE YOUNG MOTHER.
Earth has no look more deep
Than a young mother's, gazing
On her boy asleep;
Her eyes oft raising,
Then swift descending,
On him again their lustre bending;
As she on him from Him above
Would look a sacrament of love.
Not so attended is the mate
Of Monarch in her queenliest state:
Sovereign omnipotent she is,
Her subjects peerless fantasies,
That bend them to her farthest will,
As, rapt, in wakeful dream she stirs
Musings that all the mother thrill.
And what a dream is hers!
Poetic lovers never woo
Ideal words to paint their loves,
So warmly, or more lively sue
Delight for gifts, than she now moves
Imaginations that upspring
From her heart's nest, and round the dome
Of starriest heaven familiar sing
As finding there his fitter home.
Than a young mother's, gazing
On her boy asleep;
Her eyes oft raising,
Then swift descending,
On him again their lustre bending;
As she on him from Him above
Would look a sacrament of love.
128
Of Monarch in her queenliest state:
Sovereign omnipotent she is,
Her subjects peerless fantasies,
That bend them to her farthest will,
As, rapt, in wakeful dream she stirs
Musings that all the mother thrill.
And what a dream is hers!
Poetic lovers never woo
Ideal words to paint their loves,
So warmly, or more lively sue
Delight for gifts, than she now moves
Imaginations that upspring
From her heart's nest, and round the dome
Of starriest heaven familiar sing
As finding there his fitter home.
Across the chasms of time she floats;
She tempts the future's giddiest brinks;
Of space she leaps the shadowy moats;
Only from Hope's fresh cup she drinks.
Thus from Fancy's free caressings
Gathering for him ripest blessings,
She careers where life most glistens,
Where to her own heart-wants she listens.
She tempts the future's giddiest brinks;
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Only from Hope's fresh cup she drinks.
Thus from Fancy's free caressings
Gathering for him ripest blessings,
She careers where life most glistens,
Where to her own heart-wants she listens.
Her sleeping boy!—He stirs, he wakes.
Quick as a cloud the lightning's bar
From Fancy free her soul she shakes,
And swifter than a shooting star
To Earth from Dream's loved heights she springs,
A mother with an angel's wings;
And in her countenance a light
Struck from creative cores,—a glare
For aught save a young mother's face too bright,
And here on earth seen only there.
Quick as a cloud the lightning's bar
From Fancy free her soul she shakes,
And swifter than a shooting star
To Earth from Dream's loved heights she springs,
A mother with an angel's wings;
And in her countenance a light
Struck from creative cores,—a glare
For aught save a young mother's face too bright,
And here on earth seen only there.
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