A Century of Roundels Part 5

Each least chirp that rings from every nest, Each least touch of flower-soft fingers pressing Aught that yearns and trembles to be prest,

Each least glance, gives gifts of grace, redressing Grief's worst wrongs: each mother's nurturing breast Feeds a flower of bliss, beyond all blessing Blest.

ETUDE REALISTE

I.

A Baby's feet, like sea-sh.e.l.ls pink, Might tempt, should heaven see meet, An angel's lips to kiss, we think, A baby's feet.

Like rose-hued sea-flowers toward the heat They stretch and spread and wink Their ten soft buds that part and meet.

No flower-bells that expand and shrink Gleam half so heavenly sweet As shine on life's untrodden brink A baby's feet.

II.

A baby's hands, like rosebuds furled Whence yet no leaf expands, Ope if you touch, though close upcurled, A baby's hands.

Then, fast as warriors grip their brands When battle's bolt is hurled, They close, clenched hard like tightening bands.

No rosebuds yet by dawn impearled Match, even in loveliest lands, The sweetest flowers in all the world - A baby's hands.

III.

A baby's eyes, ere speech begin, Ere lips learn words or sighs, Bless all things bright enough to win A baby's eyes.

Love, while the sweet thing laughs and lies, And sleep flows out and in, Sees perfect in them Paradise.

Their glance might cast out pain and sin, Their speech make dumb the wise, By mute glad G.o.dhead felt within A baby's eyes.

BABYHOOD

I.

A baby shines as bright If winter or if May be On eyes that keep in sight A baby.

Though dark the skies or grey be, It fills our eyes with light, If midnight or midday be.

Love hails it, day and night, The sweetest thing that may be Yet cannot praise aright A baby.

II.

All heaven, in every baby born, All absolute of earthly leaven, Reveals itself, though man may scorn All heaven.

Yet man might feel all sin forgiven, All grief appeased, all pain outworn, By this one revelation given.

Soul, now forget thy burdens borne: Heart, be thy joys now seven times seven: Love shows in light more bright than morn All heaven.

III.

What likeness may define, and stray not From truth's exactest way, A baby's beauty? Love can say not What likeness may.

The Mayflower loveliest held in May Of all that shine and stay not Laughs not in rosier disarray.

Sleek satin, swansdown, buds that play not As yet with winds that play, Would fain be matched with this, and may not: What likeness may?

IV.

Rose, round whose bed Dawn's cloudlets close, Earth's brightest-bred Rose!

No song, love knows, May praise the head Your curtain shows.

Ere sleep has fled, The whole child glows One sweet live red Rose.

FIRST FOOTSTEPS

A little way, more soft and sweet Than fields aflower with May, A babe's feet, venturing, scarce complete A little way.

Eyes full of dawning day Look up for mother's eyes to meet, Too blithe for song to say.

Glad as the golden spring to greet Its first live leaflet's play, Love, laughing, leads the little feet A little way.

A NINTH BIRTHDAY FEBRUARY 4, 1883

I.

Three times thrice hath winter's rough white wing Crossed and curdled wells and streams with ice Since his birth whose praises love would sing Three times thrice.

Earth nor sea bears flower nor pearl of price Fit to crown the forehead of my king, Honey meet to please him, balm, nor spice.

Love can think of nought but love to bring Fit to serve or do him sacrifice Ere his eyes have looked upon the spring Three times thrice.

II.