A child said, What is the grass?
A child said, What is the grass? fetching it to me with full
hands;
How could I answer the child?. . . .I do not know what it
is any more than he.
I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful
green stuff woven.
Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropped,
Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we
may see and remark, and say Whose?
Or I guess the grass is itself a child. . . .the produced babe
of the vegetation.
Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic,
And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow
zones,
Growing among black folks as among white,
Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the
same, I receive them the same.
And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.
Tenderly will I use you curling grass,
It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men,
It may be if I had known them I would have loved them;
It may be you are from old people and from women, and
from offspring taken soon out of their mother's laps,
And here you are the mother's laps.
This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old
mothers,
Darker than the colorless beards of old men,
Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.
O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues!
And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths
for nothing.
I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men
and women,
And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring
taken soon out of their laps.
What do you think has become of the young and old men?
What do you think has become of the women and
children?
They are alive and well somewhere;
The smallest sprouts show there is really no death,
And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait
at the end to arrest it,
And ceased the moment life appeared.
All goes onward and outward. . . .and nothing collapses,
And to die is different from what any one supposed, and
luckier.
poem by Walt Whitman
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Related quotes
Grass (inspired by Whitman's A child asks what is grass)
grass gently waves,
sways, twists and swirls
with the gentle breeze
in a thousand steps and styles
god's merciful and caring hands
a bewildered young soul
asked ' what is grass? '
wrote lucky Whitman
who was so inspired by
the boy that he wrote
a long poem about life and death
well what is grass?
a genius mind would gather
it is god clothing his earth, men
his way of crocheting to cover up
nudity of his every land
and he so loves the task
he twists and dances in pleasure
as his breathe sweeps over the grass
there is music of joy
everywhere that his hand touches
- as he expends stitch by stitch
inch by inch to spread his cheer
to think of a man without clothes?
how a child would run
for cover on mere sight
grass is god's grace for the child
the mountains, the plains, us
how crude, barren, run down,
they would look without
the gentle and refreshing
green green grass
the grass that would
sweep us off
our feet for a dance
anytime of the day
well then let's answer the child
question: what is grass?
whitman's child would learn that
each blade is god's finger
as he signs a convenant in green
of his continuous care for us
his laughter sweeps over the grass
the way breeze does to our heart
inspired by
A child said, What is the grass?
A child said, What is the grass? fetching it to me with full
hands;
How could I answer the child? ....I do not know what it
is any more than he.
I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful
green stuff woven.
Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropped,
Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we
may see and remark, and say Whose?
Or I guess the grass is itself a child....the produced babe
of the vegetation.
Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic,
And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow
zones,
Growing among black folks as among white,
Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the
same, I receive them the same.
And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.
Tenderly will I use you curling grass,
It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men,
It may be if I had known them I would have loved them;
It may be you are from old people and from women, and
from offspring taken soon out of their mother's laps,
And here you are the mother's laps.
This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old
mothers,
Darker than the colorless beards of old men,
Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.
O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues!
And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths
for nothing.
I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men
and women,
And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring
taken soon out of their laps.
What do you think has become of the young and old men?
What do you think has become of the women and
children?
They are alive and well somewhere;
The smallest sprouts show there is really no death,
And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait
at the end to arrest it,
And ceased the moment life appeared.
All goes onward and outward....and nothing collapses,
And to die is different from what any one supposed, and
luckier.
Walt Whitman
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Being A Mother
MOTHER! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
MOTHER IS A WORD
MOTHER IS A PERSON
MOTHER IS A WOMEN
BUT WAT IS REALLY A MOTHER?
MOTHER! ! ! ! ! !
MOTHER IS WOMEN WHO GIVES BIRTH
NO........
MOTHER IS A WOMEN WHO CARES OF HER BABY
MOTHER IS A WOMEN WHO IS WILLING TO GIVE HER LIFE FOR THEIR BABY'S
ANY WOMEN CAN HAVE A BABY
ANY WOMEN CAN GIVE BIRTH
ANY WOMEN CAN BE CALLED MOM
BUT ONLY A REAL WOMEN
ONLY A REAL MOTHER CAN TAKE OVER HER RESPOSABILITIES
ONLY A WOMEN CAN DO WHATS BEST FOR THEIR CHILD
A MOTHER! ! ! ! ! ! !
A MOTHER LIKE ME
A MOTHER LIKE U
A MOTHER WHO CRIES FOR THEIR CHILD
A MOTHER WHO PRAYS FOR THEIR CHILD
A MOTHER WHO GIVES HER LIFE FOR THEIR CHILD
A MOTHER WHO STARVES TO FEED HER CHILD
A MOTHER WHO IS WILLING TO SLEEP IN THE COLD FOR THEIR CHILD,
A MOTHER WHO MAKES HER CHILDREN FEEL SAFE IN HER ARMS,
BEING THAT MOTHER! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
BEING THAT MOTHER TAKES ALOT OF WOMEN N A PERSON
BEING A MOTHER........
poem by Leticia Sanchez
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What Kind Of Mother?
What kind of mother wants her child to fail so badly? What kind of mother would do more than an enemy to hurt me? Don't you know that I am your own flesh and blood? Do you even care or are you keeping your secrets under a rug? Why are you so evil and have so much resentment in your heart? Its not my fault that your life has fallen apart? What kind of mother spits horrible words upon her child? And at the same time wants recognition for that same child. Well guess what? ... I made it without you! And guess what else? ... I have no sympathy for you! And at my graduation my heart was empty because of you. And my first child won't have a real grandmother because of you! And at the start of my college life I fail off because of you. And now when people give me hugs I look at them strange.And now when people show me love I dont know how to maintain. Thanks mom, for giving me the worst up bringing ill ever see. Thanks mom, for showing me you never cared about me. Guess now you can kick your feet up and laugh at me. While I continue to be a motherless child struggling to be. What kind of mother? ..
poem by Diamond Williams
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Women In Uniform
Beehive hairdo, 45 on the hip
Patrolwoman Saunders, don't you give her no whip
Took me to the station for a breathtest
then back to the bedroom for some house-arrest
[Chorus:]
Women in uniform, sometimes they look so cold
Women in uniform, but, Oh! They feel so warm
Coming back to London on a 747
Stewardess made me feel like I'm in heaven
Looking up the aisle to see what I could see
She leaned over said; Give it to me
White apron, brown leather shoes
The nurse at the clinic left my heart all bruised
Gave me a massage, sprained my right
Now she takes my temperature every night
[Chorus]
Women in uniform, Women in uniform
Women in uniform, Women in uniform
Commando raid on the Lebanese border
Sergeant Anita, she gives the order
Khaki jacket and a love gun
Baby, I surrender, let's have some fun
[Chorus]
[Solo]
[Chorus]
Women in uniform, Women in uniform
Women in uniform, Women in uniform
Women in uniform, Khaki, white and blue
Women in uniform, coming after you
Women, women, Women in uniform
Women, women, Women in uniform
[Chorus]
song performed by by Iron Maiden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Price
Pity all faithless women who have loved. None knows
How much it hurts a woman to do wrong to love.
The mother who has felt the child within her move,
Shall she forget her child, and those ecstatic throes?
Then pity faithless women who have loved. These have
Murdered within them something born out of their pain.
These mothers of the child whom they have loved and slain
May not so much as lay the child within a grave.
poem by Arthur Symons
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04. Beautiful Women
young women, old women
in their heart
despite the years
the yearning to be beautiful
young women, old women
they look at each other
one with envy
the other with fear and contempt (of the wrinkles, old age)
young women, old women
they look into each other
one for a mother
the other for a daughter
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Maternal Instinct...
Are women really masochistic, I wonder…?
Why do they subject themselves to torture?
After having had one to carry on the race,
Or it might become extinct and be effaced.
Labour pains, risk to life, somehow don’t deter
A woman from doing it again to be a mother.
A friend, baffled asked a pertinent question,
Why the whole burden of nurture and creation
Was put on one sex…I draw my own conclusion,
As there can be no other answer and solution.
God knew men couldn’t endure excruciating pain
And rise above self, so thus he ordained…
Women, with some exceptions, want to be mothers…
Go for more than one, so siblings can support each other.
As He gave all of us the gift of selective memory,
The moment she holds the baby she forgets the drudgery.
I guess of all the modern scientific inventions,
The pill gave woman control over creation…
If and when she wants to have a child,
Now she can choose and independently decide…
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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What Is Beautiful
What is beautiful?
Children playing together not concerned with the color of their skin
Watching a child’s creativity in playing with an imaginary friend
Every child that we see playing happily and smiling
God’s gift of a child is life’s most precious blessing
This is beautiful!
What is beautiful?
Watching our kids growing up during adolescence
Discover who they are; the need to “fit in” is present
They may find that during this time, life is quite stressful
Yet, they’re finding new friends and this feels wonderful
This is beautiful!
What is beautiful?
Teenagers that becomes so excited in going on their first date
Parents reminiscing this moment; a lost feeling that was great
Both the joy and nervousness as a teen experience a first kiss
A first kiss is an unforgettable moment; the feeling of bliss
This is beautiful!
What is beautiful?
Watching teenagers emerging into young men and women
They’re bodies are maturing; their emotions are growing
They are about to leave to begin working or go on to college
They will learn more about life and gain much knowledge
This is beautiful!
What is beautiful?
Men and women during the prime of their lives
From healthy bodies outside to wonderful spirits inside
From men’s masculinities to a women’s soft, silky skin
Their hearts are filled with love and compassion within
This is beautiful!
What is beautiful?
From the appearance across the sky from the setting sun
To a couple’s minds, souls, and hearts uniting as one
From the wonderful beauty in the wings of a white dove
To the warmth and the feeling of love and to be loved
This is beautiful!
What is beautiful?
We grow older; wrinkles are now showing on our face
Yet within, the same love shines through with every embrace
The beauty of our once young faces is still present in our hearts within
Life’s utmost beauty; loving the times spent with our families and friends
This is beautiful!
poem by David Hall
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The Child In Me
Dont slow me down, just drive me away
The skies are grey today, I look at life that way
So put me on a plane, I may escape the rain
My friends are acting strange, things dont look the same
I guess the child in me, defines the way I see
I guess the child in me, defines the way I see
Miracles
Dont let me down, just live for today
The price is high you say, you look at life that way
So put me on a chain, I will escape again
Living by the book I say,would drive me insane
I guess the child in me, defines the way I see
I guess the child in me, defines the way I see
Miracles come my way
Through the eyes of a child I am spinning round
Through the eyes of a child I will work it out
I guess the child in me, defines the way I see
Through the eyes of a child
Through the eyes of a child
song performed by by Xymox
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When We Were Here Together
when we were here together in a place we did not know, nor one
another.
A bit of grass held between the teeth for a moment, bright hair on the
wind.
What we were we did not know, nor even the grass or the flame of
hair turning to ash on the wind.
But they lied about that. From the beginning they lied. To the child,
telling him that there was somewhere anger against him, and a
hatred against him, and the only reason for his being in the
world.
But never did they tell him that the only evil and danger was in
themselves; that they alone were the prisoners and the betrayers;
that they - they alone - were responsible for what was being done
in the world.
And they told the child to starve and to kill the child that was within
him; for only by doing this could he become a useful and adjusted
member of the community which they had prepared for him.
And this time, alas, they did not lie.
And with the death of the child was born a thing that had neither
the character of a man nor the character of a child, but was a
horrible and monstrous parody of the two; and it is in this world
now that the flesh of man’s spirit lies twisted and despoiled under
the indifferent stars.
When we were here together in a place we did not know, nor one
another.
O green the bit of warm grass between our teeth. O beautiful the hair
of our mortal goddess on the indifferent wind.
poem by Kenneth Patchen
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A Mothers Love
A mothers love is everlasting, forever
A mother and her child will always be together
A mothers love for her child through the smiles and the tears
Will stay strong for years and years
A mothers love will never die
Even if sometimes her child makes her cry
A mother can really reach up high, and touch the sky
When next to her is her child
A mothers love will reach beyond the grave
When a mother is with her child she will always be brave
Two children or one, daughter or son
More precious than the stars above
You can never take a mothers love
poem by Natasha Potter
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A Fathers Torment
We hide in the shadows in obscurity
We are the fathers of the children that you see
Women are the life line, that we all know.
Since the beginning of conception and
Throughout our lives, we have to thank them
For becoming our mothers and our wives.
Men plant the seed, but on the woman’s
tube the children do feed.
Without the female there is no life
So as men we have to think twice.
At times though, we feel empty and forgotten
For all that we do in a child’s life.
When we play games with them, teach them
And give them moral support
It is something that is given, not something that is bought.
We will go back into the shadows when our hearts
Are about to burst, and this is what makes the pain so much worse.
They say that a man is not supposed to cry
But you and I know that’s an old fashioned lie.
We bleed, we cry, we feel heartache too
We are human, this is what we do.
Any man can be a father, but every man can not be a dad.
And I look upon that, and it makes me very sad.
This child has our blood and we helped to give it life
But there is no credit given to the husband, ” just the wife“.
We may be just the father, but we share in their lives too.
All we ask is recognition of the things that we do.
I recall at your birth, when I walked into the delivery room
Your eyes called me, like a mystical, magical tune.
Your eyes searched me out like a rooster for the rising sun
And looking in your eyes, I knew you was the one.
This is a fathers torment that I guess we all go through.
But without your love and dependence, what am I going to do.
I love you more than you’ll ever know
Look in my eyes, and there it will show.
And to your mother she must know:
The key number in this world is TWO, without me there is no you.
poem by Louis Rams
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Mary Of Magdala
Mary of Magdala came to bed;
There were no soft curtains round her head;
She had no mother to hold of worth
The little baby she brought to birth.
Mary of Magdala groaned and prayed:
'O God, I am very much afraid;
For out of my body, by sin defiled,
Thou biddest me make a little child.
'O God, I have turned my face from Thee
To that which the angels may not see;
How can I make, from my deep disgrace,
A child whose angel shall see Thy face?
'O God, I have sinned, and I know well
That the pains I bear are the pains of hell;
But the thought of the child that sin has given
Is like the thought of the airs of Heaven.'
Mary of Magdala held her breath
In the clutch of pain like the pains of Death,
And through her heart, like the mortal knife,
Went the pang of joy and the pang of life.
'We two are two alone,' said she,
'And we are two who should be three;
Now who will clothe my baby fair
In the little garments that babies wear?'
There came two angels with quiet wings
And hands that were full of baby things;
And the new-born child was bathed and dressed
And laid again on his mother's breast.
'Now who will sign on his brow the mark
To keep him safe from the Powers of the Dark?
Who will my baby's sponsor be?'
'I, the Lord God, who died for thee.'
'Now who will comfort him if he cry;
And who will suckle him by and bye?
For my hands are cold and my breasts are dry,
And I think that my time has come to die.'
'I will dandle thy son as a mother may;
And his lips shall lie where my own Son's lay.
Come, dear little one, come to me;
The Mother of God shall suckle thee.'
Mary of Magdala laughed and sighed;
'I never deserved a child,' she cried.
'Dear God, I am ready to go to hell,
Since with my little one all is well.'
Then the Son of Mary did o'er her lean.
'Poor mother, thy tears have washed thee clean.
Thy last poor pains, they will soon be done,
And My Mother shall give thee back thy son.'
Frozen grass for a bearing bed,
A halo of frost round a woman's head,
And pious folks who looked and said:
'A drab and her brat that are better dead.'
poem by Edith Nesbit
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The Women Of The World
The women of the World as people they are great
They give birth to the children and in so doing life create
In every woman ever born a nurturing soul you'll find
The mothers and the aunties a credit to Humankind.
All mothers and non mothers we ought to celebrate
The women of the World we tend to under-rate
Get rid of Patriarchy as such we do not need
History tells us that only to war the male kind us do lead.
The women of the World their praises we should sing
They have the gift of dialogue and that's a marvellous thing
'Tis not to give his life in war a mother raises her son
You seldom hear a woman sing of battles fought and won.
To the women of the World the toasting glass we'll raise
As the glue that binds humanity they are worthy of our praise
They are the unsung heroines of our World of today
The respect to them that is overdue to them we ought to pay.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Breastmilk
Of craftiness and subtleness!
But if i have breatsmilk,
I will feed my child all day.
Like a caring mother who cheerishes her children,
I will feed my child all day long.
Your baby needs breastmilk like,
A woman after hwer own heart;
And you are a devoted woman of a higher rank.
Sisters, Mothers, Women!
Of the sweet smelling aroma of your breastmilk;
But the family in heaven is like a child with the mother.
Stand the test and be obedient in all things,
Give your baby food and forget about your phone calls!
For you are not my mother and,
You are not an African woman.
I know how it feels and,
I know who you are;
But feed your baby with breastmilk at all times.
Like a house without hands,
Give your baby breastmilk to keep the child healthy;
For out of the blessings of the Creator you've got this child.
The door is now open on you,
The truth is now set for you,
The care is now in your own hands,
But your child really need this milk.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Take Mother-love To All
the Mother takes
the child
to the creatures
and to the beauty of the world
and she bids the child
see and listen to each
the moon says to the child:
be radiant, shine like me
with love
the flower says:
laugh, laugh joyously
like me
the bee says to the child:
be light, be light and easy
as bees in a garden
the grass says,
the grass sings to the child:
be easy, be supple
as me and my mates on the yards
and in the fields
the ocean waves to the child,
the ocean hums:
include all, embrace all,
contain all
as I do within me
the sky says,
the clouds dance to the child:
be wide, be limitless
as the wide, wide blue sky
on which we clouds sail
and the Mother says
to the child who listens,
whose heart is not closed:
love all creatures
love all beings;
take the mother-love
to every existence,
with no exception
to every form of life
poem by Raj Arumugam
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The Dead To The Living
Work while it is day: the night cometh, when no man can work.
IN the childhood of April, while purple woods
With the young year's blood in them smiled,
I passed through the lanes and the wakened fields,
And stood by the grave of the child.
And the pain awoke that is never dead
Though it sometimes sleeps, and again
It set its teeth in this heart of mine,
And fastened its claws in my brain:
For it seemed so hard that the little hands
And the little well-loved head
Should be out of reach of my living lips,
And be side by side with the dead--
Not side by side with us who had loved,
But with these who had never seen
The grace of the smile, the gold of the hair,
And the eyes of my baby-queen.
Yet with trees about where the brown birds build,
And with long green grass above,
She lies in the cold sweet breast of earth
Beyond the reach of our love;
Whatever befalls in the coarse loud world,
We know she will never wake.
When I thought of the sorrow she might have known,
I was almost glad for her sake. . . .
Tears might have tired those kiss-closed eyes,
Grief hardened the mouth I kissed;
I was almost glad that my dear was dead
Because of the pain she had missed.
Oh, if I could but have died a child
With a white child-soul like hers,
As pure as the wind-flowers down in the copse,
Where the soul of the spring's self stirs;
Or if I had only done with it all,
And might lie by her side unmoved!
I envied the very clods of earth
Their place near the child I loved!
And my soul rose up in revolt at life,
As I stood dry-eyed by her grave,
When sudden the grass of the churchyard sod
Rolled back like a green smooth wave;
The brown earth looked like the brown sea rocks,
The tombstones were white like spray,
And white like surf were the curling folds
Of the shrouds where the dead men lay;
For each in his place with his quiet face
I saw the dead lie low,
Who had worked and suffered and found life sad,
So many sad years ago.
Unchanged by time I saw them lie
As when first they were laid to rest,
The tired eyes closed, the sad lips still,
And the work-worn hands on the breast.
There were some who had found the green world so grey,
They had left it before their time,
And some were little ones like my dear,
And some had died in their prime;
And some were old, they had had their fill
Of bitter unfruitful hours,
And knew that none of them, none, had known
A flower of a hope like ours!
Through their shut eyelids the dead looked up,
And without a voice they said:
'We lived without hope, without hope we died,
And hopeless we lie here dead;
And death is better than life that draws
Pain in, as it draws in breath,
If life never dreams of a coming day
When life shall not envy death.
Through the dark of our hours and our times we lived,
Uncheered by a single ray
Of such hope as lightens the lives of you
Who are finding life hard to-day;
With our little lanterns of human love
We lighted our dark warm night--
But you in the chill of the dawn are set
With your face to the eastern light.
Freedom is waiting with hands held out
Till you tear the veil from her face--
And when once men have seen the light of her eyes,
And felt her divine embrace,
The light of the world will be risen indeed,
And will shine in the eyes of men,
And those who come after will find life fair,
And their lives worth living then!
Will you strive to the light in your loud rough world,
That these things may come to pass,
Or lie in the shadow beside the child,
And strive to the sun through the grass?'
'My world while I may,' I cried; 'but you
Whose lives were as dark as your grave?'
'We too are a part of the coming light,'
They called through the smooth green wave.
Their white shrouds gleamed as the flood of green
Rolled over and hid them from me--
Hid all but the little hands and the hair,
And the face that I always see.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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And The Grass Won't Pay No Mind (Undubbed Master)
Listen easy, you can hear God calling
Walking barefoot by the stream
Come on to me, Your hair's softly falling
On my face as in a dream
And the time will be our time
And the grass won't pay no mind
Saying nothing, lying where the sun is
Baking down upon our sides
My lips touch you, with their soft wet kisses
Your hands gentle in reply
And the time will be our time
And the grass won't pay no mind
Child, touch my soul with your cries
And the music will know what we've found
I, hear a hundred good-byes
But today I hear only one sound
The moment we're living is now
Now now now now now now now
Young bird flying, and a soft wind blowing
Cools the sweat inside my palms
Close my eyes, hear the flowers growing
As you lay sleeping in my arms
And the time will be our time
And the grass won't pay no mind
No the grass won't pay no mind
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Life for mother and child
Life for mother and child remains same
Whether black or white they claim
Nature is hard and luck is not fair
Wind blows harshly but not the air
How many months of heavy load
Spending time on open road
Struggling to earn for new born baby
Still looking towards sky and feel happy
Not all mothers may be that much lucky
The birth of baby may not be smooth but very risky
The sun may be at its peak
Mother may cry in pain and feel very weak
Beast may be just dry
As no nourishment even after good try
Yet it is allowed to suck
So many dreams are struck
Mother wants full strength and wellbeing of child
She is there to bear all odds and still feels not wild
The child is like pearl in her eyes and very precious
She tries to protect from sun, rain and serves continuous
African mothers have suffered a lot
Against nature and human beings fought
Still no hope of peace in near future
What to talk of all children for sure
They definitely demand an answer
Only God has answer or with some fewer
It is man made crisis and prevails unabated
All mothers are alike and simply equated
Where there is nothing, only black color fits
On arrival there is distribution of sweets
He is very much on the face of earth
And remain so till the arrival of death
Let us not degrade mother’s position
In all the seasons she bears same composition
Whether in desert, hot sun or in heavy rain
She has all kinds of hostilities to face with pain
I wish to bow my head to all mothers
Forgive us for all our sins and don’t bother
We love you all and cherish too
You are one that never goes off mind and stays through
We love your company and may want till the end
You are the only one as companion and true friend
You can never be black or white in our heart
You are embodiment of love and lovely piece of living art
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lost in the Flood
WHEN God drave the ruthless waters
From our cornfields to the sea,
Came she where our wives and daughters
Sobbed their thanks on bended knee.
Hidden faces! there ye found her
Mute as death, and staring wild
At the shadow waxing round her
Like the presence of her child—
Of her drenched and drowning child!
Dark thoughts live when tears won’t gather;
Who can tell us what she felt?
It was human, O my Father,
If she blamed Thee while she knelt!
Ever, as a benediction
Fell like balm on all and each,
Rose a young face whose affliction
Choked and stayed the founts of speech—
Stayed and shut the founts of speech!
Often doth she sit and ponder
Over gleams of happy hair!
How her white hands used to wander,
Like a flood of moonlight there!
Lord—our Lord! Thou know’st her weakness:
Give her faith that she may pray;
And the subtle strength of meekness,
Lest she falter by the way—
Falter, fainting, by the way!
“Darling!” saith she, wildly moaning
Where the grass-grown silence lies,
“Is there rest from sobs and groaning—
Rest with you beyond the skies?
Child of mine, so far above me!
Late it waxeth—dark and late;
Will the love with which I love thee,
Lift me where you sit and wait—
Darling! where you sit and wait?”
poem by Henry Kendall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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