THE children she had missed, That never yet had birth, Unwarmed, unfed, unkissed, Soured all her joy of earth. But when her day was done And none was desolate, Dusty and all alone, She knocked at Heaven's gate, Birds from a parapet Called to her clear and shrill; With "Mother! Mother!" so wild and sweet, And they were never still. They were no birds at all, But children small and bright; When she came past the high wall They were as birds in flight. One was clasping her hand; One was hugging her gown; The littlest one of all the band She lifted nor set him down. Her hungry heart and cold Was filled full and to spare: One had her feet to hold, One was kissing her hair. The heart in her side Forgot the ancient wrong: When "Mother! Mother! Mother!" they cried, It soared like a bird's song. Her arms were full of children, As they were birds in nest. The littlest one crept softly in, So he lay in her breast. God's people passing by, They smiled at her heart's ease; "This mother of many children, Her flowers grow to her knees." They dance, they laugh, they run, She laughs with them at play; Their pleasures are not done Nor their sweet holiday. When they lie down at night, Soft pillows, downiest beds, Her arms are full of her birds bright, Dark heads and golden heads. She draws them close to her, Lest haply it should seem That the new life in some wild fear Was a dream, but a dream. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN THE MILE END ROAD by AMY LEVY THE BEAN-STALK by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY TO A GIRL by ASCLEPIADES OF SAMOS A SONG OF THE WESTERN EDEN by HOPE S. BARBER OVER THE ROSE-LEAVES, UNDER THE ROSE by JOHN BENNETT (1865-1956) HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 38 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH THE MADONNA OF THE EARTH by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH A PIPE OF TOBACCO (MR. POPE'S STYLE IMITATED) by ISAAC HAWKINS BROWNE |