Lament

PEACE, your little child is dead:

Peace, I cannot weep with you;

I have no more tears to shed;

I have mourned my baby too —

I, that ne'er was wooed or wed.

Love has looked within your eyes,

Love has filled your hungry heart;

You have borne the babe, your prize;

You have blossomed, done your part,

Though the flower faded lies.

But to me was love denied —

God had said it might not be;

Still my hungry hopes abide;

All the motherhood in me

Aches — and starves, unsatisfied.

How my soul has yearned for thee,

Sweet, sweet unborn child of mine!

How thy life would tenderly

Round thy mother's life entwine —

Hope of hopes that may not be.

How thy hands would pluck my breast!

I have felt them o'er and o'er,

And thy soft, sweet skin caressed,

Baby mine I never bore!

Did I dream so? — dreams are best.

You have nothing now to fear,

Mother; you have fondled him,

Held his pretty face so near,

Laid your lips to each soft limb —

He is dead, but he was dear.

You have something you may mourn,

Some sweet memory to kiss;

I am lonelier, more forlorn;

God has left me only this —

My sweet babe that was not born.