WHEN you paced forth, to wait maternity, A dream of other offspring held my mind, Compounded of us twain as Love designed; Rare forms, that corporate now will never be! Should I, too, wed as slave to Mode's decree, And each thus found apart, of false desire, A stolid line, whom no high aims will fire As had fired ours could ever have mingled we; And, grieved that lives so matched should miscompose, Each mourn the double waste; and question dare To the Great Dame whence incarnation flows, Why those high-purposed children never were: What will she answer? That she does not care If the race all such sovereign types unknows. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...INDIAN SUMMER (2) by JOHN BANISTER TABB WHEN GOD WEARIED by WILLIAM ROSE BENET THE WOUNDED VULTURE by ANNE CHARLOTTE LYNCH BOTTA VISTAS OF LABOR: 3. IN A SWEATSHOP by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON THE CRY OF THE HEART AND FLESH by PHOEBE CARY |