Immolated

Children of my happier prime,

When One yet lived with me, and threw

Her rainbow over life and time,

Even Hope, my bride, and mother to you!

O, nurtured in sweet pastoral air,

And fed on flowers and light and dew

Of morning meadows -spare, ah, spare

Reproach; spare, and upbraid me not

That, yielding scarce to reckless mood,

But jealous of your future lot,

I sealed you in a fate subdued.

Have I not saved you from the dread

Theft, and ignoring which need be

The triumph of the insincere

Unanimous Mediocrity?

Rest, therefore, free from all despite,

Snugged in the arms of comfortable night.