I "THOU, of all God's gifts the best Blessed Bed!" I muse, and rest Thinking how it havened me In my dazed Infancy -- Ere mine eyes could bear the kind Daylight through the window-blind, Or my lips, in yearning quest, Groping found the mother-breast, Or mine utterance but owned Minor sounds that sobbed and moaned. II Gracious Bed that nestled me Even ere the mother's knee, -- Lulling me to slumber ere Conscious of my treasure there -- Save the tiny palms that kept Fondling, even as I slept, That rare dual-wealth of mine, -- Softest pillow -- sweetest wine! -- Gentlest cheer for mortal guest, And of Love's fare lordliest. III By thy grace, O Bed, the first Blooms of Boyhood-memories burst: -- Dreams of riches, swift withdrawn As I, wakening, find the dawn With its glad Spring-face once more Glimmering on me as of yore: Then the bluebird's limpid cry Lulls me like a lullaby, Till falls every failing sense Back to sleep's sheer impotence. IV Or, a truant, home again, -- With the moonlight through the pane, And the kiss that ends the prayer -- Then the footsteps down the stair; And the close hush; and far click Of the old clock; and the thick Sweetness of the locust-bloom Drugging all the enchanted room Into darkness fathoms deep As mine own pure childish sleep. V Gift and spell, O Bed, retell Every lovely miracle -- Up from childhood's simplest dream Unto manhood's pride supreme! -- Sacredness no words express, -- Lo, the young wife's fond caress Of her first-born, while beside Bends the husband, tearful-eyed, Marveling of kiss and prayer Which of these is holier there. VI Trace the vigils through the long, Long nights, when the cricket's song Stunned the sick man's fevered brain, As he tossed and moaned in pain Piteous -- till thou, O Bed, Smoothed the pillows for his head, And thy soothest solace laid Round him, and his fever weighed Into slumber deep and cool, And divinely merciful. VII Thus, O Bed, all gratefully I would ever sing of thee -- Till the final sleep shall fall O'er me, and the crickets call In the grasses where at last I am indolently cast Like a play-worn boy at will. -- 'Tis a Bed befriends me still -- Yea, and Bed, belike, the best, Softest, safest, blessedest. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A TOWN WINDOW by JOHN DRINKWATER VALENTINES TO MY MOTHER: 1882 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI SIR JOHN FRANKLIN; ON THE CENTOTAPH IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY by ALFRED TENNYSON CONCERNING I AND NON-I by JOHN STUART BLACKIE SING A SONG by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE |