POETRY.
THE MOTHER.
SRE bath 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 streamebh 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 his unfathomable silence, While slow tears fill her eyes.
But the child, gazing upward.
Sees the glory of the apple-blossoms 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.
FREDERIC MANNING.
Previous page
