p. 20

CONTENTS

“When Augustus Cæsar legislated against the unmarried citizens of Rome, he declared them to be, in some sort, slayers of the people.”

Ah no, not these! These, who were childless, are not they who gave So many dead unto the journeying wave, The helpless nurslings of the cradling seas; Not they who doomed by infallible decrees Unnumbered man to the innumerable grave.

p. 21But those who slay Are fathers. Theirs are armies. Death is theirs, The death of innocences and despairs; The dying of the golden and the grey. The sentence, when these speak it, has no Nay. And she who slays is she who bears, who bears.

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p. 22THE MODERN MOTHER

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Oh what a kiss With filial passion overcharged is this! To this misgiving breast The child runs, as a child ne’er ran to rest Upon the light heart and the unoppressed.

Unhoped, unsought! A little tenderness, this mother thought The utmost of her meed She looked for gratitude; content indeed With thus much that her nine years’ love had bought.

p. 23Nay, even with less. This mother, giver of life, death, peace, distress, Desired ah! not so much Thanks as forgiveness; and the passing touch Expected, and the slight, the brief caress.

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Oh filial light Strong in these childish eyes, these new, these bright Intelligible stars! Their rays Are near the constant earth, guides in the maze, Natural, true, keen in this dusk of days.

p. 24WEST WIND IN WINTER

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Another day awakes. And who—  Changing the world—is this? He comes at whiles, the Winter through, West Wind! I would not miss His sudden tryst: the long, the new Surprises of his kiss.

Vigilant, I make haste to close With him who comes my way. I go to meet him as he goes; I know his note, his lay, His colour and his morning rose; And I confess his day.

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