 | Collected poems |  |
146
A NEW BEING
I know myself no more, my child,
Since thou art come to me,
Pity so tender and so wild
Hath wrapped my thoughts of thee.
Since thou art come to me,
Pity so tender and so wild
Hath wrapped my thoughts of thee.
These thoughts, a fiery gentle rain,
Are from the Mother shed,
Where many a broken heart hath lain
And many a weeping head.
Are from the Mother shed,
Where many a broken heart hath lain
And many a weeping head.
| Collected poems | |