Childhood
( " L'enfant chantait. " )
The small child sang; the mother, outstretched on the low bed,
With anguish moaned, — fair Form pain should possess not long;
For, ever nigher, Death hovered around her head:
I hearkened there this moan, and heard even there that song.
The child was but five years, and, close to the lattice, aye
Made a sweet noise with games and with his laughter bright;
And the wan mother, beside this being the livelong day
Carolling joyously, coughed hoarsely all the night.
The mother went to sleep with them that sleep alway;
And the blithe little lad began anew to sing ...
Sorrow is like a fruit: God doth not therewith weigh
Earthward the branch strong yet but for the blossoming.
The small child sang; the mother, outstretched on the low bed,
With anguish moaned, — fair Form pain should possess not long;
For, ever nigher, Death hovered around her head:
I hearkened there this moan, and heard even there that song.
The child was but five years, and, close to the lattice, aye
Made a sweet noise with games and with his laughter bright;
And the wan mother, beside this being the livelong day
Carolling joyously, coughed hoarsely all the night.
The mother went to sleep with them that sleep alway;
And the blithe little lad began anew to sing ...
Sorrow is like a fruit: God doth not therewith weigh
Earthward the branch strong yet but for the blossoming.
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