Prone in the prison of a lonely night, At last the darkness quivers to my sight; The Sheriff Sun has come to give release, And far before him throws a crawling light. Ah, were it not the Sheriff pacing slow, Grimly to offer me the lesser woe Of barren toil, and back to jail at night, -- But Mother, as in days of long ago! In heaven, O God! I want no joy but this: Once more to have the child's unconscious bliss, The perfect sleep unvexed by any pain, And Mother to awake me with a kiss. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest... |