Mother's Loss
If I could clasp my little babe
Upon my breast to-night,
I would not mind the blowing wind
That shrieketh in affright.
Oh, my lost babe! my little babe,
My babe with dreamful eyes;
Thy bed is cold; and night wind bold
Shrieks woeful lullabies.
My breast is softer than the sod;
This room, with lighter hearth,
Is better place for thy sweet face
Than frozen mother eatrth.
Oh, my babe! oh, my lost babe!
Oh, babe with waxen hands,
I want thee so, I need thee so –
Come from thy mystic lands!
No love that, like a mother’s fills
Each corner of the heart;
No loss like hers, that rends, and chills,
And tears the soul apart.
Oh, babe – my babe, my helpless babe!
I miss thy little form.
Would I might creep where thou dost sleep,
And clasp thee through the storm.
I hold thy pillow to my breast,
To bring a vague relief;
I sing the songs that soothed thy rest –
Ah me! no cheating grief.
My breathing babe! my sobbing babe!
I miss thy plaintive moan,
I cannot hear – thou art not near –
My little one, my own.
Thy father sleeps. He mourns thy loss,
But little fathers know
The pain that makes a mother toss
Through sleepless nights of woe.
My clinging babe! my nursing babe!
What knows thy father – man –
How my breasts miss thy lips’ soft kiss –
None but a mother can.
Related poetry:
- On The Death Of Dr. Samuel Marshall THROUGH thickest glooms look back, immortal Shade, On that confusion which thy death has made: Or from Olympus’ height look down, and see A Town involv’d in grief bereft of thee. Thy Lucy sees thee mingle with the dead, And rends the graceful tresses from her head, Wild in her woe, with grief unknown opprest […]...
- COMFORT IN TEARS How happens it that thou art sad, While happy all appear? Thine eye proclaims too well that thou Hast wept full many a tear. “If I have wept in solitude, None other shares my grief, And tears to me sweet balsam are, And give my heart relief.” Thy happy friends invite thee now, Oh come, […]...
- THE ERL-KING WHO rides there so late through the night dark and drear? The father it is, with his infant so dear; He holdeth the boy tightly clasp’d in his arm, He holdeth him safely, he keepeth him warm. “My son, wherefore seek’st thou thy face thus to hide?” “Look, father, the Erl-King is close by our […]...
- The Loss Of The Eurydice Foundered March 24. 1878 1 The Eurydice-it concerned thee, O Lord: Three hundred souls, O alas! on board, Some asleep unawakened, all un- Warned, eleven fathoms fallen 2 Where she foundered! One stroke Felled and furled them, the hearts of oak! And flockbells off the aerial Downs’ forefalls beat to the burial. 3 For did […]...
- Sweet And Low Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea, Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea! Over the rolling waters go, Come from the dying moon, and blow, Blow him again to me; While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps. Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, Father will […]...
- Loss And Gain When I compare What I have lost with what I have gained, What I have missed with what attained, Little room do I find for pride. I am aware How many days have been idly spent; How like an arrow the good intent Has fallen short or been turned aside. But who shall dare To […]...
- Mothers Are a Special Gift Mothers are a special gift sent From God above, They bless us with their nurturing, And fill us with their love. They pick us up when we are down, And when we’re sad they know, They’re always there to lend a hand, And guide us as we go. And mothers are like special jewels That […]...
- The Loss of Love All through an empty place I go, And find her not in any room; The candles and the lamps I light Go down before a wind of gloom. Thick-spraddled lies the dust about, A fit, sad place to write her name Or draw her face the way she looked That legendary night she came. The […]...
- The Loss of the Victoria Alas! Now o’er Britannia there hangs a gloom, Because over 400 British Tars have met with a watery tomb; Who served aboard the ” Victoria,” the biggest ship in the navy, And one of the finest battleships that ever sailed the sea. And commanded by Sir George Tyron, a noble hero bold, And his name […]...
- Sonnet 42: That thou hast her, it is not all my grief That thou hast her, it is not all my grief, And yet it may be said I loved her dearly; That she hath thee is of my wailing chief, A loss in love that touches me more nearly. Loving offenders, thus I will excuse ye: Thou dost love her because thou know’st I love her, […]...
- Sonnet XLII That thou hast her, it is not all my grief, And yet it may be said I loved her dearly; That she hath thee, is of my wailing chief, A loss in love that touches me more nearly. Loving offenders, thus I will excuse ye: Thou dost love her, because thou knowst I love her; […]...
- On a Dead Child Perfect little body, without fault or stain on thee, With promise of strength and manhood full and fair! Though cold and stark and bare, The bloom and the charm of life doth awhile remain on thee. Thy mother’s treasure wert thou;-alas! no longer To visit her heart with wondrous joy; to be Thy father’s pride:-ah, […]...
- Sonnet CXLIII Lo! as a careful housewife runs to catch One of her feather’d creatures broke away, Sets down her babe and makes an swift dispatch In pursuit of the thing she would have stay, Whilst her neglected child holds her in chase, Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent To follow that which flies […]...
- Sonnet 143: Lo, as a careful huswife runs to catch Lo, as a careful huswife runs to catch One of her feathered creatures broke away, Sets down her babe and makes all swift dispatch In pursuit of the thing she would have stay, Whilst her neglected child holds her in chase, Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent To follow that which flies […]...
- The dead babe Last night, as my dear babe lay dead, In agony I knelt and said: “0 God! what have I done, Or in what wise offended Thee, That Thou should’st take away from me My little son? “Upon the thousand useless lives, Upon the guilt that vaunting thrives, Thy wrath were better spent! Why should’st Thou […]...
- Removed from Accident of Loss Removed from Accident of Loss By Accident of Gain Befalling not my simple Days Myself had just to earn Of Riches as unconscious As is the Brown Malay Of Pearls in Eastern Waters, Marked His What Holiday Would stir his slow conception Had he the power to dream That put the Dower’s fraction Awaited even […]...
- A loss of something ever felt I A loss of something ever felt I The first that I could recollect Bereft I was of what I knew not Too young that any should suspect A Mourner walked among the children I notwithstanding went about As one bemoaning a Dominion Itself the only Prince cast out Elder, Today, a session wiser And fainter, […]...
- Sonnet 35 – If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange And be all to me? Shall I never miss Home-talk and blessing and the common kiss That comes to each in turn, nor count it strange, When I look up, to drop on a new range Of walls and floors, another home than this? Nay, wilt […]...
- On Anothers Sorrow Can I see anothers woe, And not be in sorrow too? Can I see anothers grief, And not seek for kind relief. Can I see a falling tear. And not feel my sorrows share, Can a father see his child, Weep, nor be with sorrow fill’d. Can a mother sit and hear. An infant groan […]...
- The Land Of Dreams Awake, awake my little Boy! Thou wast thy Mother’s only joy: Why dost thou weep in thy gentle sleep? Awake! thy Father does thee keep. “O, what land is the Land of Dreams? What are its mountains, and what are its streams? O Father, I saw my Mother there, Among the lillies by waters fair. […]...
- Thee, God, I Come from Thee, God, I come from, to thee go, All day long I like fountain flow From thy hand out, swayed about Mote-like in thy mighty glow. What I know of thee I bless, As acknowledging thy stress On my being and as seeing Something of thy holiness. Once I turned from thee and hid, Bound […]...
- The Paradox I am the mother of sorrows, I am the ender of grief; I am the bud and the blossom, I am the late-falling leaf. I am thy priest and thy poet, I am thy serf and thy king; I cure the tears of the heartsick, When I come near they shall sing. White are my […]...
- Sonnet 22: My glass shall not persuade me I am old My glass shall not persuade me I am old So long as youth and thou are of one date; But when in thee Time’s furrows I behold, Then look I death my days should expiate. For all that beauty that doth cover thee Is but the seemly raiment of my heart, Which in thy breast […]...
- Sonnet XXII My glass shall not persuade me I am old, So long as youth and thou are of one date; But when in thee time’s furrows I behold, Then look I death my days should expiate. For all that beauty that doth cover thee Is but the seemly raiment of my heart, Which in thy breast […]...
- Affliction (III) My heart did heave, and there came forth, ‘O God’! By that I knew that thou wast in the grief, To guide and govern it to my relief, Making a sceptre of the rod: Hadst thou not had thy part, Sure the unruly sigh had broke my heart. But since thy breath gave me both […]...
- Mother Earth Mother of all the high-strung poets and singers departed, Mother of all the grass that weaves over their graves the glory of the field, Mother of all the manifold forms of life, deep-bosomed, patient, impassive, Silent brooder and nurse of lyrical joys and sorrows! Out of thee, yea, surely out of the fertile depth below […]...
- One Art The art of losing isn’t hard to master; So many things seem filled with the intent To be lost that their loss is no disaster. Lose something every day. Accept the fluster Of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn’t hard to master. Then practice losing farther, losing faster: Places, […]...
- The Playing Infant Play on thy mother’s bosom, babe, for in that holy isle The error cannot find thee yet, the grieving, nor the guile; Held in thy mother’s arms above life’s dark and troubled wave, Thou lookest with thy fearless smile upon the floating grave. Play, loveliest innocence! Thee yet Arcadia circles round, A charmed power for […]...
- UPON THE LOSS OF HIS MISTRESSES I have lost, and lately, these Many dainty mistresses: Stately Julia, prime of all; Sapho next, a principal: Smooth Anthea, for a skin White, and heaven-like crystalline: Sweet Electra, and the choice Myrha, for the lute and voice. Next, Corinna, for her wit, And the graceful use of it; With Perilla: All are gone; Only […]...
- A Cradle Song Sweet dreams form a shade, O’er my lovely infants head. Sweet dreams of pleasant streams, By happy silent moony beams Sweet sleep with soft down. Weave thy brows an infant crown. Sweet sleep Angel mild, Hover o’er my happy child. Sweet smiles in the night, Hover over my delight. Sweet smiles Mothers smiles, All the […]...
- GROWTH O’ER field and plain, in childhood’s artless days, Thou sprang’st with me, on many a spring-morn fair. “For such a daughter, with what pleasing care, Would I, as father, happy dwellings raise!” And when thou on the world didst cast thy gaze, Thy joy was then in household toils to share. “Why did I trust […]...
- Loss And Gain Virtue runs before the muse And defies her skill, She is rapt, and doth refuse To wait a painter’s will. Star-adoring, occupied, Virtue cannot bend her, Just to please a poet’s pride, To parade her splendor. The bard must be with good intent No more his, but hers, Throw away his pen and paint, Kneel […]...
- Lament For Culloden The lovely lass o’ Inverness, Nae joy nor pleasure can she see; For e’en and morn she cries, “Alas!” And ay the saut tear blins her ee: Drumossie moor-Drumossie day – A waefu’ day it was to me! For there I lost my father dear, My father dear, and brethren three. Their winding-sheet the bluidy […]...
- 460. Song-The Lovely Lass o' Inverness THE LOVELY lass o’ Inverness, Nae joy nor pleasure can she see; For, e’en to morn she cries, alas! And aye the saut tear blin’s her e’e. “Drumossie moor, Drumossie day- A waefu’ day it was to me! For there I lost my father dear, My father dear, and brethren three. “Their winding-sheet the bluidy […]...
- Garden and cradle When our babe he goeth walking in his garden, Around his tinkling feet the sunbeams play; The posies they are good to him, And bow them as they should to him, As fareth he upon his kingly way; And birdlings of the wood to him Make music, gentle music, all the day, When our babe […]...
- Inspiration Not like a daring, bold, aggressive boy, Is inspiration, eager to pursue, But rather like a maiden, fond, yet coy, Who gives herself to him who best doth woo. Once she may smile, or thrice, thy soul to fire, In passing by, but when she turns her face, Thou must persist and seek her with […]...
- Tides O patient shore, thou canst not go to meet Thy love, the restless sea, how comfortest Thou all thy loneliness? Art thou at rest, When, loosing his strong arms from round thy feet, He turns away? Know’st thou, however sweet That other shore may be, that to thy breast He must return? And when in […]...
- To His Lute My lute, be as thou wert when thou didst grow With thy green mother in some shady grove, When immelodious winds but made thee move, And birds their ramage did on thee bestow. Since that dear Voice which did thy sounds approve, Which wont in such harmonious strains to flow, Is reft from Earth to […]...
- Why Should I Care for the Men of Thames Why should I care for the men of thames Or the cheating waves of charter’d streams Or shrink at the little blasts of fear That the hireling blows into my ear Tho born on the cheating banks of Thames Tho his waters bathed my infant limbs The Ohio shall wash his stains from me I […]...
- In No Strange Land The kingdom of God is within you O world invisible, we view thee, O world intangible, we touch thee, O world unknowable, we know thee, Inapprehensible, we clutch thee! Does the fish soar to find the ocean, The eagle plunge to find the air That we ask of the stars in motion If they have […]...