The Earth-Mother And Her Children

Her children all were gathered round her, One olden, golden day; Between her tender, drooping eyelids She watched them feed or play.

Upon the lion's living velvet She pillowed her fair head; A white fawn pushed its dewy muzzle Beneath the hand that fed.

A goldfinch clung upon a ringlet That brushed her wide, smooth brow; And, thence, right merrily he answered His comrades on the bough.

But at her feet there lay a sleeper, Of subtly-fashioned limb; Whose motion, force and will to be, Kept yet their prison dim.

And round about his couch of slumber The rest a space did make: "Your peace" (the Mother told her children) "Is broken, if he wake!

"Lo! this--the best of all created-- Shall yet an evil bring: And ye in doubt shall graze the pasture, And ye in fear shall sing.

"For your dear sake, my lesser children, I keep him long asleep; Play on, sing on, a happy season-- His dreams be passing deep!"

Thus, while her children gathered round her, And while Man sleeping lay, The fair Earth-Mother softly murmured, "It is your Golden Day!"