Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/307

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TO AN INFANT SMILING AS IT AWOKE.
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And the hour of dusk is coining, Yet no more the babe can sleep;By the door, with soundless gliding, Lo! a woman's form doth sweep.
Waving white, a gauzy mantle Falls the silent one to hide;Sure she once hath known the chamber, Now she's by the cradle's side.
There she rocks the child to slumber, Singing low no mortal tone;Thrice she kissed and thrice she crossed it, Bent to bless it and was gone.
Seven days in dusky gloaming Came that silent one again,Stilled the child's distress and weeping, Lulled with song its waking pain.
When the eighth grey eve was falling, Still and mute the child was found;Snowy white and crimson roses Had its cradle decked around.
In the weird night, dumb with sorrow, Bear they off the babe to rest,To her new-made grave, and lay it Close beside its mother's breast.
To an Infant Smiling as It Awoke.
After the sleep of night as some still lake Displays the cloudless heaven in reflection,And, dimpled by the breezes, seems to break Into a waking smile of recollection,As if from its calm depths the morning lightCalled up the pleasant dreams that gladdened night—
So doth the laughing azure of those eyes Display a mental heaven of its own:In that illumined smile I recognise The sunlight of a sphere to us unknown;Thou hast been dreaming of some previous blissIn other worlds—for thou art new to this.

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