THOSE tender mothers! When such little things, Such helpless, fragile little things we are,-- How they pray God for us! How they make war For us with death! and spread their mother-wings About us full of anxious quiverings, And spying each least peril from afar, With their own arms, thereto made mighty, bar The way from harms and smile at adder-stings, And brave the tigers merciless and wild, In their deep love for us; and by and by, When we are men, to strive and stand alone, We clasp our desperate, aching heads and moan; Would God my mother had left me to die! Would I had died a sinless little child! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LAURENCE BLOOMFIELD IN IRELAND: 9. GOING TO THE FAIR by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM THE SENTINEL; TO MY FRIEND by JOSEPH BEAUMONT SATURDAY NIGHT AT SEA by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD INVITING by DANIEL CHAUNCEY BREWER THE BEGGAR by MARGARET E. BRUNER STANZAS TO A LADY ON LEAVING ENGLAND by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |