A CHILD was born to me today, A birth without a throe; Joy thrills within me, but the pain Died thirty years ago; For 'tis the child of him I bore, And well may he entwine His dearest hopes about it; still, 'Tis mine, and ever mine. And I shall comfort all its hurts, And weep when it is ill, And know some portion of the grief A mother knows; but still The care, the watchful discipline Through all the years must fall To other hands--for me such things Have passed, and love is all. The child I bore, himself made good All my distress and pain; And now the child that comes to me From heaven is pure gain.-- And his child will be mine. And his. I'll down the ages go In glad, perpetual motherhood Through births without a throe. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON THE EPHEMERALNESS OF BEAUTY by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS WILD PLUM BLOSSOMS by EVA K. ANGLESBURG THE HALCYON BIRDS by WILLIAM ROSE BENET PSALM 33. EXULTATE JUSTI by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE TO A CRITIC OF TENNYSON by AMBROSE BIERCE THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 45. FAREWELL TO JULIET (7) by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |