The Last Robin
Lyrics and Sonnets


by Ethelwyn Wetherald



 

MOTHER AND CHILD.



I SAW a mother holding
    Her play-worn baby son,
Her pliant arms enfolding
    The drooping little one.

Her lips were made of sweetness,

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    And sweet the eyes above;
With infantile completeness
    He yielded to her love.

And I who saw the heaving
    Of breast to dimpling cheek,

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Have felt, within, the weaving
    Of thoughts I cannot speak;

Have felt myself the nestling,
    All strengthless, love-enisled;
Have felt myself the mother

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    Abrood above her child. [Page 34]