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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE CRADLE, by EUGENE MANUEL
First Line: For nine long months she made her mother's vows
Last Line: Is made of oak, and to god's acre borne.
Subject(s): Coffins; Cradles; Death - Children; Mothers; Pregnancy; Death - Babies
First Line: For nine long months she made her mother's vows
Last Line: Is made of oak, and to god's acre borne.
Subject(s): Coffins; Cradles; Death - Children; Mothers; Pregnancy; Death - Babies
FOR nine long months she made her mother's vows
To lay her God-sent baby in a shrine
Most fit to hold him; it must far outshine
The cot wherein the sons of kings may drowse.
Out on your simple deal, your supple boughs!
The artist drew the cot of her design:
It must be pearl let into rosewood fine,
Though gold indeed were proper for his house.
Nought seems too costly, linen or fine lace
To swathe with whiteness the soft baby face
Upon the pillow on his birthday morn.
Now is he come, her little son, her pride!
And lo! the cradle he must sleep inside
Is made of oak, and to God's acre borne.
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