Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, CRADLED IN MUSIC, by LEWIS MORRIS (1833-1907)


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

CRADLED IN MUSIC, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: A bright young mother, day by day
Last Line: And in this faith we live and die.
Subject(s): Children; Music & Musicians; Childhood


A BRIGHT young mother, day by day,
I meet upon the crowded way,
Who turns her dark eyes, deep and mild,
Upon her little sleeping child.

For on the organ laid asleep,
In childish slumbers light, yet deep,
Calmly the rosy infant lies;
The long fair lashes veil his eyes.

O'er that untroubled dreamtide sweet
The swift hours steal with noiseless feet;
Far off the music seems to cheer
The child's accustomed drowsy ear.

Hymn-tune and song-tune, grave and gay,
Comfort him all the joyous day;
And, half remembered, faintly seen
To mingle with each happy dream.

Poor child, for whom the summer long
Our dull hours slip by, winged with song;
Sleeping for half the tuneful day,
Waking 'neath loving looks to play;

Whose innocent eyes unconscious see
Nothing but mirth in misery.
Thy mother smiles, thy sister stands
Smiling, the tambour in her hands.

And with the time of hard-earned rest,
'Tis thine to press that kindly breast;
Nor dream of all the toil, the pain,
The weary round begun again, --

The fruitless work, the blow, the curse,
The hunger, the contempt, or worse;
The laws despite, the vague alarms,
Which pass not those protecting arms.

Only, as yet, 'tis thine to know
The bright young faces all aglow,
As down the child-encumbered street
The music stirs the lightsome feet,

Only to crow and smile, as yet.
Soon shall come clouds, and cold, and wet;
And where the green leaves whisper now,
The mad East flinging sleet and snow.

And if to childhood thou shalt come --
Childhood that knows not hearth or home, --
Coarse words maybe, and looks of guile,
Shall chase away that constant smile.

Were it not better, child, than this,
The burden of full life to miss;
And now, while yet the time is May,
Amid the music pass away.

And leave the dissonant cries of wrong
For the immortal, perfect song;
And take the changeless heavenly life
For earth's poor vagrant toil and strife;

And keep, within those opened skies,
A vision of thy mother's eyes;
And hear those old strains, faint and dim,
Grown fine, within the eternal hymn?

Nay, whatsoe'er our thought may deem,
Not that is better which may seem;
'Twere better that thou camest to be,
If Fate so willed, in misery.

What shall be, shall be -- that is all;
To one great Will we stand and fall.
"The Scheme hath need" -- we ask not why,
And in this faith we live and die.





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