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...LOVE'S TENDRILS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE DESIRE OF NATIONS by EDWIN MARKHAM SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: BARNEY HAINSFEATHER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: WILLIAM JONES by EDGAR LEE MASTERS BALLADE OF WENCHES by FRANCOIS VILLON |