A Child of the People And Other Poems. By James Chapman Woods |
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| TWENTY-ONE. |
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 | A Child of the People |  |
148
TWENTY-ONE.
I.
O little sister, not so long ago
The Bible names were giants in your path,
Terrible as to Israel he of Gath,
Whom yet you, pigmy, learned to overthrow.
Hardly you reach my shoulder now, tiptoe.
That trustful, wondering look which a child hath
In limpid eyes unvexed of the world's scathe,
Says plain as words, “I am a child's, you know!”
The Bible names were giants in your path,
Terrible as to Israel he of Gath,
Whom yet you, pigmy, learned to overthrow.
Hardly you reach my shoulder now, tiptoe.
That trustful, wondering look which a child hath
In limpid eyes unvexed of the world's scathe,
Says plain as words, “I am a child's, you know!”
Why, only now the dolls began to grieve,
Imprisoned where, before, the puzzles stood.
I vow I think you stole there yester-eve
To bribe them with caresses to be good:
Yet, for all this, you try to make believe
That vou to-day are crowned with womanhood!
Imprisoned where, before, the puzzles stood.
I vow I think you stole there yester-eve
To bribe them with caresses to be good:
Yet, for all this, you try to make believe
That vou to-day are crowned with womanhood!
149
II.
Ah me, what woes were yours, what tears you shed!
Still by sick dolls for ever would you sit;
The cat, quick-tempered Tom, would scratch and spit,
Because my sweet must take it still to bed.
Once real sorrow, may-be, when o'erhead
Voices were ever low and lights long lit:
The room where, with a coffin crowding it,
They showed the child a mother lying dead.
Still by sick dolls for ever would you sit;
The cat, quick-tempered Tom, would scratch and spit,
Because my sweet must take it still to bed.
Once real sorrow, may-be, when o'erhead
Voices were ever low and lights long lit:
The room where, with a coffin crowding it,
They showed the child a mother lying dead.
But you have grown and left these griefs behind
With Youth, who will not let his burdens last.
Since you will be a woman, you will find
That troubles never more will fade so fast.
O world who hath given her memories fair and kind,
Deal with her Future lightly as with her Past!
With Youth, who will not let his burdens last.
Since you will be a woman, you will find
That troubles never more will fade so fast.
O world who hath given her memories fair and kind,
Deal with her Future lightly as with her Past!
150
III.
A woman! and you laugh with stately glee,
And I laugh with you, such a jest it is
To think you have become too old to kiss,
And with unstudied words no longer free.
A woman! you have nothing more to be:
Men may be statesmen, schoolmen, that or this,
Each greater by the honour that is his;
But “woman” is a woman's one degree.
And I laugh with you, such a jest it is
To think you have become too old to kiss,
And with unstudied words no longer free.
A woman! you have nothing more to be:
Men may be statesmen, schoolmen, that or this,
Each greater by the honour that is his;
But “woman” is a woman's one degree.
Nay though, not quite! Look upward, little one!
Why should your eyes such thoughts untold retain?
Yes, in your head I guess what fancies run,
Already of a higher title fain:—
You would be wife before the days be done,
And see your daughters dress the dolls again.
Why should your eyes such thoughts untold retain?
Yes, in your head I guess what fancies run,
Already of a higher title fain:—
You would be wife before the days be done,
And see your daughters dress the dolls again.
151
IV.
What thoughts shall maidens have on days like these?
God knows that mine are always sad enough!
To think my joys are of such subtle stuft
As, shrivelling somehow, fades to memories:
To think what burdens bring men to the knees,
And hold them there in flinty ways and rough;
How choose the work there is such surfeit of,
To help the worn-out world unto some peace?
God knows that mine are always sad enough!
To think my joys are of such subtle stuft
As, shrivelling somehow, fades to memories:
To think what burdens bring men to the knees,
And hold them there in flinty ways and rough;
How choose the work there is such surfeit of,
To help the worn-out world unto some peace?
But do not chide; you need no sermon fear:
With no grave words your birthday shall be vexed.
And yet, my maid, if you will deign to hear,
Take with your life begun this saw for text:—
Only the work is noble which is near,
And after, that is noble which is next.
With no grave words your birthday shall be vexed.
And yet, my maid, if you will deign to hear,
Take with your life begun this saw for text:—
Only the work is noble which is near,
And after, that is noble which is next.
152
V.
Stand silent, with meek hands against the side,—
Nay, do not pout,—and hear your fortune told.
Deem me a Gipsy woman brown and bold,
Whose nimble wit more than you think has spied,—
Hoards a week's whispers ere her craft be plied,
And needs not that her hand be crossed with gold.
Oh, she tells fortunes rarely, and hath sold
Philtres ere now to win a wished-for bride!
Nay, do not pout,—and hear your fortune told.
Deem me a Gipsy woman brown and bold,
Whose nimble wit more than you think has spied,—
Hoards a week's whispers ere her craft be plied,
And needs not that her hand be crossed with gold.
Oh, she tells fortunes rarely, and hath sold
Philtres ere now to win a wished-for bride!
“You have a hundred lovers; one is true,
And in the house of life your stars have met.
Ah, he would cross all stormiest seas for you,
And sends these songs to pay a birthday debt.”
White witch, begone! She reads her fortune through!—
Does the world guess you're not my sister yet?
And in the house of life your stars have met.
Ah, he would cross all stormiest seas for you,
And sends these songs to pay a birthday debt.”
White witch, begone! She reads her fortune through!—
Does the world guess you're not my sister yet?
153
VI.
New sister of all women, none of mine,
Who would be more to you than brothers may,
Let this best birthday be your bridal day
Of heart and troth, whereto our lips shall sign.
What, ere the Gipsy came, did you divine?
Ah, little witch, to guess long months away
That, of my soul, Love had some word to say
Which you would hear of! Well your eyes might shine!
Who would be more to you than brothers may,
Let this best birthday be your bridal day
Of heart and troth, whereto our lips shall sign.
What, ere the Gipsy came, did you divine?
Ah, little witch, to guess long months away
That, of my soul, Love had some word to say
Which you would hear of! Well your eyes might shine!
And now in turn you shall my fortune tell.
Sweet love, whose head such myriad fancies share,
You know the divination of the well,
And how the loved face at a lover's prayer
Shines upward? In mine eyes essay the spell,
For I must love the face that mirrors there!
Sweet love, whose head such myriad fancies share,
You know the divination of the well,
And how the loved face at a lover's prayer
Shines upward? In mine eyes essay the spell,
For I must love the face that mirrors there!
| A Child of the People | |