Where were ye, Birds, that bless His name, John Banister Tabb TO HIS MOTHER He brought a Lily white, Before her fairer light. He brought a rose; and, lo, Became as white as snow. John Banister Tabb THE SHEPHERDESS SHE walks the lady of my delight— A shepherdess of sheep. Her flocks are thoughts. She keeps them white; She guards them from the steep. She feeds them on the fragrant height, She roams maternal hills and bright, Into that tender breast at night The chastest stars may peep. She walks the lady of my delight A shepherdess of sheep. She holds her little thoughts in sight, She is so circumspect and right; She walks the lady of my delight A shepherdess of sheep. Alice Meynell MOTHERLESS I WRITE. My mother was a Florentine, Whose rare blue eyes were shut from seeing me When scarcely I was four years old; my life, She could not bear the joy of giving life— I felt a mother-want about the world, Grown chill through something being away, though what It knows not. I, Aurora Leigh, was born sense, And kissing full sense into empty words; Become aware and unafraid of Love. Such good do mothers. Fathers love as well. - Mine did, I know, but still with heavier brains, And wills more consciously responsible, So mothers have God's license to be missed. CHILD AND MOTHER O MOTHER-MY-LOVE, if you'll give me your hand, And go where I ask you to wander, I will lead you away to a beautiful land The Dreamland that's waiting out yon der. We'll walk in a sweet-posie garden out there Where moonlight and starlight are stream ing And the flowers and birds are filling the air With fragrance and music of dreaming. There'll be no little tired-out boy to undress, No questions or cares to perplex you; There'll be no little bruises or bumps to caress, Nor patching of stockings to vex you. For I'll rock you away on a silver-dew stream, And sing you asleep when you're weary, And no one shall know of our beautiful dream But you and your own little dearie. And when I am tired I'll nestle my head In the bosom that's soothed me so often, And the wide-awake stars shall sing in my stead A song which our dreaming shall soften. So Mother-my-Love, let me take your dear hand, And away through the starlight we'll wander Away through the mist to the beautiful land The Dreamland that's waiting out yon der! Eugene Field MY AIN WIFE I WADNA gi'e my ain wife For wife I see; I wadna gi'e my ain wife For ony wife I see; A bonnier yet I've never seen, A better canna be I wadna gi'e my ain wife O couthie is my ingle-cheek, Nor hear her word on ane. She's gude wi' a' the neebours roun' |