« AnteriorContinuar »
THE LITTLE BLACK BOY
My mother bore me in the southern wild, And I am black, but O, my soul is white! White as an angel is the English child,
But I am black, as if bereaved of light.
My mother taught me underneath a tree, And, sitting down before the heat of day, She took me on her lap and kissèd me,
And, pointing to the East, began to say:
"Look at the rising sun; there God does live, And gives His light, and gives His heat
And flowers and trees and beasts and men receive
Comfort in morning, joy in the noonday.
"And we are put on earth a little space, That we may learn to bear the beams of
And these black bodies and this sunburnt face Are but a cloud, and like a shady grove.
"For when our souls have learn'd the heat to bear,
The cloud will vanish, when we shall hear
Saying 'Come out from the grove, my love
And round my golden tent like lambs rejoice.""
Thus did my mother say, and kissèd me,
And thus I say to little English boy.
When I from black and he from white cloud free,
And round the tent of God like lambs we
I'll shade him from the heat till he can bear To lean in joy upon our Father's knee; And then I'll stand and stroke his silver
And be like him, and he will then love me. William Blake
(Lines written at Burmah in joy for a first-born)
ERE last year's morn had left the sky,
Her tiny wings upon my breast.
From morn till evening's purple tinge,
There's not in Ind a lovelier bird;
This beautiful, mysterious thing,
The pulse first caught its tiny stroke,
A silent awe is in my room,
I tremble with delicious fear;
Doubts, hopes, in eager tumult rise,
Hear, O my God, one earnest prayer: Room for my bird in Paradise,
And give her angel-plumage there.
Emily C. Judson
CHILDREN are what the mothers are.
No fondest father's fondest care
Can fashion so the infant heart
His startled eyes with wonder see
His waking arms; to her those eyes
Open with joy and not surprise.
Walter Savage Landor
MY LITTLE DEAR
My little dear, so fast asleep,
Whose arms about me cling, What kisses shall she have to keep,
While she is slumbering?
Upon her golden baby-hair,
The golden dreams I'll kiss
Which Life spread through my morning fair,
And I have saved, for this.
Upon her baby eyes I'll press
The kiss Love gave to me, When his great joy and loveliness Made all things fair to see.
And on her lips, with smiles astir,
May now be kissed to comfort her,
THE IMMORTALITY OF LOVE
THEY sin who tell us love can die:
But love is indestructible;
Its holy flame for ever burneth,
From heaven it came, to heaven returneth.
Too oft on earth a troubled guest,
It here is tried and purified,