the home book of verse-1-第15节
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Of life's mysterious land。
Dimpled； and soft； and pink as peach…tree blossoms；
In April's fragrant days；
How can they walk among the briery tangles；
Edging the world's rough ways？
These rose…white feet； along the doubtful future；
Must bear a mother's load；
Alas！ since Woman has the heavier burden；
And walks the harder road。
Love； for a while； will make the path before them
All dainty； smooth； and fair； …
Will cull away the brambles； letting only
The roses blossom there。
But when the mother's watchful eyes are shrouded
Away from sight of men；
And these dear feet are left without her guiding；
Who shall direct them then？
How will they be allured； betrayed； deluded；
Poor little untaught feet！
Into what dreary mazes will they wander；
What dangers will they meet？
Will they go stumbling blindly in the darkness
Of Sorrow's tearful shades？
Or find the upland slopes of Peace and Beauty；
Whose sunlight never fades？
Will they go toiling up Ambition's summit；
The common world above？
Or in some nameless vale； securely sheltered；
Walk side by side with Love？
Some feet there be which walk Life's track unwounded；
Which find but pleasant ways：
Some hearts there be to which this life is only
A round of happy days。
But these are few。 Far more there are who wander
Without a hope or friend； …
Who find their journey full of pains and losses；
And long to reach the end。
How shall it be with her； the tender stranger；
Fair…faced and gentle…eyed；
Before whose unstained feet the world's rude highway
Stretches so fair and wide？
Ah！ who may read the future？ For our darling
We crave all blessings sweet；
And pray that He who feeds the crying ravens
Will guide the baby's feet。
Elizabeth Akers ＇1832…1911＇
THE BABIE
Nae shoon to hide her tiny taes；
Nae stockin' on her feet；
Her supple ankles white as snaw；
Or early blossoms sweet。
Her simple dress o' sprinkled pink；
Her double； dimplit chin；
Her puckered lips； an' baumy mou'；
With na ane tooth within。
Her een sae like her mither's een；
Twa gentle； liquid things；
Her face is like an angel's face； …
We're glad she has nae wings。
She is the buddin' of our luve；
A giftie God gied us：
We maun na luve the gift owre weel；
'Twad be nae blessin' thus。
We still maun luve the Giver mair；
An' see Him in the given；
An' sae she'll lead us up to Him；
Our babie straight frae Heaven。
Jeremiah Eames Rankin ＇1828…1904＇
LITTLE HANDS
Soft little hands that stray and clutch；
Like fern fronds curl and uncurl bold；
While baby faces lie in such
Close sleep as flowers at night that fold；
What is it you would； clasp and hold；
Wandering outstretched with wilful touch？
O fingers small of shell…tipped rose；
How should you know you hold so much？
Two full hearts beating you inclose；
Hopes； fears； prayers； longings； joys and woes； …
All yours to hold； O little hands！
More； more than wisdom understands
And love； love only knows。
Laurence Binyon ＇1869…
BARTHOLOMEW
Bartholomew is very sweet；
From sandy hair to rosy feet。
Bartholomew is six months old；
And dearer far than pearls or gold。
Bartholomew has deep blue eyes；
Round pieces dropped from out the skies。
Bartholomew is hugged and kissed：
He loves a flower in either fist。
Bartholomew's my saucy son：
No mother has a sweeter one！
Norman Gale ＇1862…
THE STORM…CHILD
My child came to me with the equinox；
The wild wind blew him to my swinging door；
With flakes of tawny foam from off the shore；
And shivering spindrift whirled across the rocks。
Flung down the sky； the wheeling swallow…flocks
Cried him a greeting； and the lordly woods；
Waving lean arms of welcome one by one；
Cast down their russet cloaks and golden hoods；
And bid their dancing leaflets trip and run
Before the tender feet of this my son。
Therefore the sea's swift fire is in his veins；
And in his heart the glory of the sea；
Therefore the storm…wind shall his comrade be；
That strips the hills and sweeps the cowering plains。
October； shot with flashing rays and rains；
Inhabits all his pulses； he shall know
The stress and splendor of the roaring gales；
The creaking boughs shall croon him fairy tales；
And the sea's kisses set his blood aglow；
While in his ears the eternal bugles blow。
May Byron ＇1861…
〃ON PARENT KNEES〃
On parent knees； a naked new…born child；
Weeping thou sat'st while all around thee smiled：
So live； that； sinking to thy life's last sleep；
Calm thou may'st smile； while all around thee weep。
William Jones ＇1746…1794＇
〃PHILIP； MY KING〃
〃Who bears upon his baby brow the round and top of sovereignty。〃
Look at me with thy large brown eyes；
Philip； my king！
Round whom the enshadowing purple lies
Of babyhood's royal dignities。
Lay on my neck thy tiny hand
With love's invisible scepter laden；
I am thine Esther to command
Till thou shalt find a queen…handmaiden；
Philip； my king。
O the day when thou goest a…wooing；
Philip； my king！
When those beautiful lips are suing；
And some gentle heart's bars undoing；
Thou dost enter； love…crowned； and there
Sittest love…glorified。 Rule kindly；
Tenderly； over thy kingdom fair；
For we that love； ah！ we love so blindly；
Philip； my king。
Up from thy sweet mouth； … up to thy brow；
Philip； my king！
The spirit that there lies sleeping now
May rise like a giant and make men bow
As to one heaven…chosen among his peers。
My Saul； than thy brethren taller and fairer；
Let me behold thee in future years！ …
Yet thy head needeth a circlet rarer；
Philip； my king。
… A wreath not of gold； but palm。 One day；
Philip； my king！
Thou too must tread； as we trod； a way
Thorny and cruel and cold and gray：
Rebels within thee； and foes without；
Will snatch at thy crown。 But march on； glorious；
Martyr； yet monarch！ till angels shout；
As thou sittest at the feet of God victorious；
〃Philip； the king！〃
Dinah Maria Mulock Craik ＇1826…1887＇
THE KING OF THE CRADLE
Draw back the cradle curtains； Kate；
While watch and ward you're keeping；
Let's see the monarch in his state；
And view him while he's sleeping。
He smiles and clasps his tiny hand；
With sunbeams o'er him gleaming； …
A world of baby fairyland
He visits while he's dreaming。
Monarch of pearly powder…puff；
Asleep in nest so cosy；
Shielded from breath of breezes rough
By curtains warm and rosy：
He slumbers soundly in his cell；
As weak as one decrepid；
Though King of Coral； Lord of Bell；
And Knight of Bath that's tepid。
Ah； lucky tyrant！ Happy lot！
Fair watchers without number；
Who sweetly sing beside his cot；
And hush him off to slumber；
White hands in wait to smooth so neat
His pillow when its rumpled …
A couch of rose leaves soft and sweet；
Not one of which is crumpled！
Will yonder dainty dimpled hand …
Size； nothing and a quarter …
E'er grasp a saber； lead a band
To glory and to slaughter？
Or； may I ask； will those blue eyes …
In baby patois； 〃peepers〃 …
E'er in the House of Commons rise；
And try to catch the Speaker's？
Will that smooth brow o'er Hansard frown；
Confused by lore statistic？
Or will those lips e'er stir the town
From pulpit ritualistic？
Will e'er that tiny Sybarite
Become an author noted？
That little brain the world's delight；
Its works by all men quoted？
Though rosy； dimpled； plump； and round
Though fragile； soft； and tender；
Sometimes； alas！ it may be found
The thread of life is slender！
A little shoe； a little glove …
Affection never waning …
The shattered idol of our love
Is all that is remaining！
Then does one chance； in fancy； hear；
Small feet in childish patter；
Tread soft as they a grave draw near；
And voices hush their chatter；
'Tis small and new； they pause in fear；
Beneath the gray church tower；
To consecrate it with a tear；
And deck it with a flower。
Who can predict the future； Kate …
Your fondest aspiration！
Who knows the solemn laws of fate；
That govern all creation？
Who knows what lot awaits your boy …
Of happiness or sorrow？
Sufficient for to…day is joy；
Leave tears； Sweet； for to…morrow！
Joseph Ashby…Sterry ＇1838…1917＇
THE FIRSTBORN
So fair； so dear； so warm upon my bosom；
And in my hands the little rosy feet。
Sleep on； my little bird； my lamb； my blossom；
Sleep on； sleep on； my sweet。
What is it God hath given me to cherish；
This living； moving wonder which is mine …
Mine only？ Leave it with me or I perish；
Dear Lord of love divine。
Dear Lord； 'tis wonderful beyond all wonder；
This tender miracle vouchsafed to me；
One with myself； yet just so far asunder
That I myself may see。
Flesh
