 | A Tale of Eternity and Other Poems |  |
375
THE WHITE CHILD.
Mothers of Children three;
Two of them ruddy with glee;
One your White Child, your pearl!
Do you feel as I feel with my Girl?
For I peer in her tender face,
And I fear that its light of grace
Is too still and too starry a birth
For our noisy, dim dwellings of Earth.
She looks like a natural Child
Of the heavens—too lustrous, too mild
For us. Other Roses are blowing
While mine seems up-folding and going,—
Dreamily happy in going.
Yet on it more soft is the thorn
Than the tiniest little snail's-horn,
And golden at heart is the Morn
Of a day that may never be born.
Two of them ruddy with glee;
One your White Child, your pearl!
Do you feel as I feel with my Girl?
For I peer in her tender face,
And I fear that its light of grace
Is too still and too starry a birth
For our noisy, dim dwellings of Earth.
She looks like a natural Child
Of the heavens—too lustrous, too mild
For us. Other Roses are blowing
While mine seems up-folding and going,—
Dreamily happy in going.
376
Than the tiniest little snail's-horn,
And golden at heart is the Morn
Of a day that may never be born.
Just a spirit of light is my Girl,
Seen thro' a body of pearl;
A spirit of life that will fleet
Away, more on wings than on feet.
Her cheek is so waxenly thin,
As if deathward 'twere whitening in,
And the cloud of her flesh, still more white,
Were clearing till soul is in sight.
She leans as the wind-flowers stoop;
All their loveliness seen as they droop!
Her eyes have the sweet native hue
Of the heaven they are melting into,
Blue as the Violets above
The grave of some tender babe-love
That back to us wistfully bring
The buried blue eyes with the Spring.
Her large eyes too liquidly glister!
Her mouth is too red.
Seen thro' a body of pearl;
A spirit of life that will fleet
Away, more on wings than on feet.
Her cheek is so waxenly thin,
As if deathward 'twere whitening in,
And the cloud of her flesh, still more white,
Were clearing till soul is in sight.
She leans as the wind-flowers stoop;
All their loveliness seen as they droop!
Her eyes have the sweet native hue
Of the heaven they are melting into,
Blue as the Violets above
The grave of some tender babe-love
That back to us wistfully bring
The buried blue eyes with the Spring.
Her large eyes too liquidly glister!
Her mouth is too red.
377
Have they kissed her—
The Angels that bend down to pull
Our buds of the Beautiful,
And whispered their own little Sister?
The Angels that bend down to pull
Our buds of the Beautiful,
And whispered their own little Sister?
O Mothers of Children three!
Two of them bright of blee;
One, your White Child, your pearl!
Do you feel as I feel with my Girl?
For I think I could give half her wealth
Of heaven for a little more health:
The halo of Saints for the simple
Blithe graces that dip in a dimple!
Nay, I feel in my heart I could revel
To see but a wee dash of devil;
A touch of the old Adam in her;
A glimpse of his fair fellow-sinner;
Any likeness of earth that would give
Me a promise my Darling should live.
O my love! O my life! O my Maker,
Take me too, if Thou must take her!
Two of them bright of blee;
One, your White Child, your pearl!
Do you feel as I feel with my Girl?
For I think I could give half her wealth
Of heaven for a little more health:
The halo of Saints for the simple
Blithe graces that dip in a dimple!
Nay, I feel in my heart I could revel
To see but a wee dash of devil;
A touch of the old Adam in her;
A glimpse of his fair fellow-sinner;
Any likeness of earth that would give
Me a promise my Darling should live.
O my love! O my life! O my Maker,
Take me too, if Thou must take her!
| A Tale of Eternity and Other Poems | |