Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/300
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The Dumb Child.
She is my only girl,—
I asked for her as some most precious thing;
For all unfinished was love's jewelled ring
Till set with this soft pearl.
The shade that time brought forth I could not see,
So pure, so perfect, seemed the gift to be.
I asked for her as some most precious thing;
For all unfinished was love's jewelled ring
Till set with this soft pearl.
The shade that time brought forth I could not see,
So pure, so perfect, seemed the gift to be.
Oh! many a soft old tune
I used to sing into that deafened ear,
And suffered not the slightest footstep near,
Lest she might wake too soon;
And hushed her brothers' laughter while she lay—
Oh, needless care—I might have let them play.
I used to sing into that deafened ear,
And suffered not the slightest footstep near,
Lest she might wake too soon;
And hushed her brothers' laughter while she lay—
Oh, needless care—I might have let them play.
'Twas long ere I believed
That this one daughter might not speak to me;
Waited and watched, God knows how patiently,
How willingly deceived;
Vain love was long the untiring nurse of faith,
And tended hope until it starved to death!
That this one daughter might not speak to me;
Waited and watched, God knows how patiently,
How willingly deceived;
Vain love was long the untiring nurse of faith,
And tended hope until it starved to death!
Oh, if she could but hear
For one short hour, that I her tongue might teach
To call me mother, in the broken speech
That thrills the mother's ear!
Alas! those sealed lips never may be stirred,
To the deep music of that lovely word.
For one short hour, that I her tongue might teach
To call me mother, in the broken speech
That thrills the mother's ear!
Alas! those sealed lips never may be stirred,
To the deep music of that lovely word.
My heart it sorely tries
To see her kneel with such a reverent air
Beside her brothers, at their evening prayer;
Or lift those earnest eyes
To watch our lips, as though our words she knew,
Then move her own as she were speaking too.
To see her kneel with such a reverent air
Beside her brothers, at their evening prayer;
Or lift those earnest eyes
To watch our lips, as though our words she knew,
Then move her own as she were speaking too.
I've watched her looking up
To the bright wonder of an evening sky,
With such a depth of meaning in her eye,
That I could almost hope
The struggling soul would burst its binding cords,
And the long pent-up thought flow forth in words.
To the bright wonder of an evening sky,
With such a depth of meaning in her eye,
That I could almost hope
The struggling soul would burst its binding cords,
And the long pent-up thought flow forth in words.
The song of bird and bee,
The chorus of the breezes, streams, and groves,
All the great music to which nature moves,
Are wasted melody
To her—the world of sound a tuneless void,
While even silence hath its charm destroyed.
The chorus of the breezes, streams, and groves,
All the great music to which nature moves,
Are wasted melody
To her—the world of sound a tuneless void,
While even silence hath its charm destroyed.