CHILDREN are what the mothers are. No fondest father's fondest care Can fashion so the infant heart As those creative beams that dart, With all their hopes and fears, upon The cradle of a sleeping son. His startled eyes with wonder see A father near him on his knee, Who wishes all the while to trace The mother in his future face; But 't is to her alone uprise His waking arms; to her those eyes Open with joy and not surprise. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ELEGY: THE GHOST WHOSE LIPS WERE WARM; FOR GEOFFREY GORER by EDITH SITWELL VERSES SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY ALEXANDER SELKIRK by WILLIAM COWPER THE WAITER AND THE ALLIGATOR by G. W. A. A DEFIANCE, RETURNING TO THE PLACE OF HIS PAST AMOURS by PHILIP AYRES RARE DESTINY by FLORA LOUISE BAILEY |