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Grace Hazard Conkling ＇1878…
TO LITTLE RENEE ON FIRST SEEING HER LYING IN HER CRADLE
Who is she here that now I see；
This dainty new divinity；
Love's sister； Venus' child？ She shows
Her hues； white lily and pink rose；
And in her laughing eyes the snares
That hearts entangle unawares。
Ah； woe to men if Love should yield
His arrows to this girl to wield
Even in play； for she would give
Sore wounds that none might take and live。
Yet no such wanton strain is hers；
Nor Leda's child and Jupiter's
Is she； though swans no softer are
Than whom she fairer is by far。
For she was born beside the rill
That gushes from Parnassus' hill；
And by the bright Pierian spring
She shall receive an offering
From every youth who pipes a strain
Beside his flocks upon the plain。
But I； the first； this very day；
Will tune for her my humble lay；
Invoking this new Muse to render
My oaten reed more sweet and tender；
Within its vibrant hollows wake
Such dulcet voices for her sake
As； curved hand at straining ear；
I long have stood and sought to hear
Borne with the warm midsummer breeze
With scent of hay and hum of bees
Faintly from far…off Sicily。。。。
Ah； well I know that not for us
Are Virgil and Theocritus；
And that the golden age is past
Whereof they sang； and thou； the last；
Sweet Spenser； of their god…like line；
Soar far too swift for verse of mine
One strain to compass of your song。
Yet there are poets that prolong
Of your rare voice the ravishment
In silver cadences； content
Were I if I could but rehearse
One stave of Wither's starry verse；
Weave such wrought richness as recalls
Britannia's lovely Pastorals；
Or in some garden…spot suspire
One breath of Marvell's magic fire
When in the green and leafy shade
He sees dissolving all that's made。
Ah； little Muse still far too high
On weak； clipped wings my wishes fly。
Transform them then and make them doves；
Soft…moaning birds that Venus loves；
That they may circle ever low
Above the abode where you shall grow
Into your gracious womanhood。
And you shall feed the gentle brood
From out your hand … content they'll be
Only to coo their songs to thee。
William Aspenwall Bradley ＇1878…
RHYME OF ONE
You sleep upon your mother's breast；
Your race begun；
A welcome； long a wished…for Guest；
Whose age is One。
A Baby…Boy； you wonder why
You cannot run；
You try to talk … how hard you try！ …
You're only One。
Ere long you won't be such a dunce：
You'll eat your bun；
And fly your kite； like folk who once
Were only One。
You'll rhyme and woo； and fight and joke；
Perhaps you'll pun！
Such feats are never done by folk
Before they're One。
Some day； too； you may have your joy；
And envy none；
Yes； you； yourself； may own a Boy；
Who isn't One。
He'll dance； and laugh； and crow； he'll do
As you have done：
（You crown a happy home； though you
Are only One。）
But when he's grown shall you be here
To share his fun；
And talk of times when he （the Dear！）
Was hardly One？
Dear Child； 'tis your poor lot to be
My little Son；
I'm glad； though I am old； you see； …
While you are One。
Frederick Locker…Lampson ＇1821…1895＇
TO A NEW…BORN CHILD
Small traveler from an unseen shore；
By mortal eye ne'er seen before；
To you； good…morrow。
You are as fair a little dame
As ever from a glad world came
To one of sorrow。
We smile above you； but you fret；
We call you gentle names； and yet
Your cries redouble。
'Tis hard for little babes to prize
The tender love that underlies
A life of trouble。
And have you come from Heaven to earth？
That were a road of little mirth；
A doleful travel。
〃Why did I come？〃 you seem to cry；
But that's a riddle you and I
Can scarce unravel。
Perhaps you really wished to come；
But now you are so far from home
Repent the trial。
What！ did you leave celestial bliss
To bless us with a daughter's kiss？
What self…denial！
Have patience for a little space；
You might have come to a worse place；
Fair Angel…rover。
No wonder now you would have stayed；
But hush your cries； my little maid；
The journey's over。
For； utter stranger as you are；
There yet are many hearts ajar
For your arriving；
And trusty friends and lovers true
Are waiting； ready…made for you；
Without your striving。
The earth is full of lovely things；
And if at first you miss your wings；
You'll soon forget them；
And others； of a rarer kind
Will grow upon your tender mind …
If you will let them …
Until you find that your exchange
Of Heaven for earth expands your range
E'en as a flier；
And that your mother； you and I；
If we do what we should； may fly
Than Angels higher。
Cosmo Monkhouse ＇1840…1901＇
BABY MAY
Cheeks as soft as July peaches；
Lips whose dewy scarlet teaches
Poppies paleness … round large eyes
Ever great with new surprise；
Minutes filled with shadeless gladness；
Minutes just as brimmed with sadness；
Happy smiles and wailing cries；
Crows and laughs and tearful eyes；
Lights and shadows swifter born
Than on wind…swept Autumn corn；
Ever some new tiny notion
Making every limb all motion …
Catching up of legs and arms；
Throwings back and small alarms；
Clutching fingers … straightening jerks；
Twining feet whose each toe works；
Kickings up and straining risings；
Mother's ever new surprisings；
Hands all wants and looks all wonder
At all things the heavens under；
Tiny scorns of smiled reprovings
That have more of love than lovings；
Mischiefs done with such a winning
Archness； that we prize such sinning；
Breakings dire of plates and glasses；
Graspings small at all that passes；
Pullings off of all that's able
To be caught from tray or table；
Silences … small meditations；
Deep as thoughts of cares for nations；
Breaking into wisest speeches
In a tongue that nothing teaches；
All the thoughts of whose possessing
Must be wooed to light by guessing；
Slumbers … such sweet angel…seemings；
That we'd ever have such dreamings；
Till from sleep we see thee breaking；
And we'd always have thee waking；
Wealth for which we know no measure；
Pleasure high above all pleasure；
Gladness brimming over gladness；
Joy in care … delight in sadness；
Loveliness beyond completeness；
Sweetness distancing all sweetness；
Beauty all that beauty may be …
That's May Bennett； that's my baby。
William Cox Bennett ＇1820…1895＇
ALICE
Of deepest blue of summer skies
Is wrought the heaven of her eyes。
Of that fine gold the autumns wear
Is wrought the glory of her hair。
Of rose leaves fashioned in the south
Is shaped the marvel of her mouth。
And from the honeyed lips of bliss
Is drawn the sweetness of her kiss；
'Mid twilight thrushes that rejoice
Is found the cadence of her voice；