Is not this enough for moan To see this babe all motherless -- A babe beloved -- thrust out alone Upon death's wilderness? Our tears fall, fall, fall -- I would weep My blood away to make her warm, Who never went on earth one step, Nor heard the breath of the storm. How shall you go, my little child, Alone on that most wintry wild? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IRELAND; WRITTEN FOR THE ART AUTOGRAPH DURING IRISH FAMINE by SIDNEY LANIER HE GOADS HIMSELF by LOUIS UNTERMEYER THE VOICE OF THE GRASS by SARAH ROBERTS BOYLE THE GOLDEN TARGE by WILLIAM DUNBAR GOLIATH AND DAVID by ROBERT RANKE GRAVES TO GOD AND IRELAND TRUE by ELLEN O'LEARY ON THE EVE OF DEPARTURE FROM O-- by MATILDA BARBARA BETHAM-EDWARDS |