POETRY.
HUMAN LIFE.
A LITTLE child, with her bright blue eyes, And hair like golden spray, Sat on the rock by the steep cliff's foot
As the ocean ebbed away.
And she longed for the milk-white shining foam,
As it danced to the shingles' hum, And stretched out her hand, and tottered fast To bring the white feathers home.
And still as she strayed the tide ebbed fast, And the gleaming foam laughed on, And the white fluff shrunk from the tiny feet, And the little fat hands caught none.
She sat wearily down by the steep cliff's foot, Till the waves seemed to change their mind, And the white foam flowed to her as she sat, As though 'twould at last be kind.
And the fluff played over her soft white feet, And the feathers flew up to her chin, And the soft loving water kissed her lips, And I carried my dead child in. W.
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