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IV

Blue eyes, against the whiteness pressed
Of little mother's hallowed breast,

The while your trembling lips are fed,
Look up at mother's bended head,
All benediction over you—

O blue eyes looking into blue!

Fragoletta is so small,

We wonder that she lives at all

Tiny alabaster girl,

Hardly bigger than a pearl;

That is why we take such care,

Lest some one run away with her.

Richard Le Gallienne [1866

CHOOSING A NAME

I HAVE got a new-born sister:

I was nigh the first that kissed her.
When the nursing-woman brought her
To papa, his infant daughter,

How papa's dear eyes did glisten!
She will shortly be to christen;

And papa has made the offer,

I shall have the naming of her.

Now I wonder what would please her,

Charlotte, Julia, or Louisa?

Ann and Mary, they're too common;

Joan's too formal for a woman;

Jane's a prettier name beside;
But we had a Jane that died.
They would say, if 'twas Rebecca,
That she was a little Quaker.
Edith's pretty, but that looks
Better in old English books;

Weighing the Baby

Ellen's left off long ago;
Blanche is out of fashion now.

None that I have named as yet
Is so good as Margaret.
Emily is neat and fine;

What do you think of Caroline?
How I'm puzzled and perplexed
What to choose or think of next!
I am in a little fever

Lest the name that I should give her
Should disgrace her or defame her;-
I will leave papa to name her.

13

Mary Lamb [1764-1847]

WEIGHING THE BABY

"How many pounds does the baby weigh—
Baby who came but a month ago?
How many pounds from the crowning curl
To the rosy point of the restless toe?"

Grandfather ties the 'kerchief knot,
Tenderly guides the swinging weight,
And carefully over his glasses peers
To read the record, "only eight."

Softly the echo goes around:

The father laughs at the tiny girl; The fair young mother sings the words,

While grandmother smooths the golden curl.

And stooping above the precious thing,
Nestles a kiss within a prayer,

Murmuring softly "Little one,

Grandfather did not weigh you fair."

Nobody weighed the baby's smile,

Or the love that came with the helpless one;

Nobody weighed the threads of care,

From which a woman's life is spun.

No index tells the mighty worth
Of a little baby's quiet breath-
A soft, unceasing metronome,

Patient and faithful until death.

Nobody weighed the baby's soul,

For here on earth no weights there be
That could avail; God only knows
Its value in eternity.

Only eight pounds to hold a soul
That seeks no angel's silver wing,
But shrines it in this human guise,
Within so frail and small a thing!

Oh, mother! laugh your merry note,
Be gay and glad, but don't forget
From baby's eyes looks out a soul
That claims a home in Eden yet.

Ethel Lynn Beers [1827-1879]

ÉTUDE RÊALISTE

I

A BABY'S feet, like seashells 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.

Little Feet

II

A baby's hands, like rosebuds furled,
Where yet no leaf expands,

Ope if you touch, though close upcurled,-
A baby's hands.

Then, even 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 godhead felt within

A baby's eyes.

Algernon Charles Swinburne [1837-1909]

LITTLE FEET

Two little feet, so small that both may nestle

In one caressing hand,

Two tender feet upon the untried border

Of life's mysterious land.

15

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.

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