THE MOTHER

She hath such quiet eyes,

That feed on all earth's wonders! She will sit

Here in the orchard, and the bewildering beauty

Of blossoming boughs lulls her as day grows late

And level sunlight streameth through the tree-stems

Lying as pale gold on the green fallows, and gilding the fleeces

Of the slow-feeding sheep in the pastures.

While in her there stirs,

A dream, a delight, a wonder her being knew not,

Yet now remembers, wistfully, as a thing long lost,

Sunken in dim, green, lucid sea-caves;

And her desire goeth out from her, toward God, through the twilight,

Lost, too, in the waters of unfathomable silence.

But the child, gazing upward,

Sees the glory of the apple-blossom suddenly scattered,

As a bird flies through the branches;

And he reaches toward the soft, white fluttering petals

That light upon his face, and laughs; and she

Stoops over him quickly with sudden, hot, passionate kisses,

Smiling for all her tears.