Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE ODE OF INFANCY, by LEWIS MORRIS (1833-1907) Poet's Biography First Line: Oh, little child! Last Line: And life's imperial portals opening gradually wide. Subject(s): Babies; Infants | ||||||||
OH, little child! Stretched on thy mother's knees, with steadfast gaze And innocent aspect mild, Viewing this novel scene in mute amaze, Following the moving light, thy mother's smile, And storing up the while New precious knowledge till thou com'st to be Sage it may be or clown -- Soaring or sinking down, To topmost heights of weal or depths of misery; How shall I dare to mark thy innocent look, And write as in a book Thy infinite possibilities of life; What fate awaits thee in the coming strife, What joys, what triumphs in the growing years, What depths of woe and tears? I see thee lie Safe in thy silken cradle, sunk in down, Within thy father's palace-chambers fair; Thy guarded slumbers breathing tempered air; The soft eyes, full of yearning, watching by; Caressing arms waiting thy waking cry; All luxury and state which can assuage Life's painful heritage; The prayers of a people swell for thee Up to the careless skies which cover all. And yet it may be thine to fall Far from thy loved and native land, And end thy imperfect, innocent life-tale here, Forsaken on a savage desert strand, Pierced through and through by some barbarian spear. I see thy tiny face Pale, worn with hunger, and large hollow eyes, Upon the frozen way-side laid Stiffening in thy dead mother's cold embrace. I hear thy piteous cries When the sot flings thee down with limbs that bleed -- Flings thee, and takes no heed; Weak, helpless, born to misery, girt round With vice and sin and shame, in sight and sound. Poor life foredoomed, already sunk and lost; Too often sent to tread the ways of death With childish failing breath; Yet ofttimes holding power To bloom a virgin flower Upon the untrodden heights closed to the multitude, Among the wise and good. Or with brown face thou comest and limb, Naked, on the warm soil that bears the palm; Or haply the young heir of all the dim And half-forgotten realms whose ruins stand Sown lion-haunted on the deathlike calm Which wraps the Egyptian or Assyrian sand, Reared 'midst the dust of empires; or art now As through all history thou wert, the child Of savage parents, rude and wild, Springing and falling; born to flower and seed, Or sink upon the uncaring earth, a weed Trodden by the pitiless feet of cruel men With hearts that ape the tiger's; or art born In the old, old empire, which hath long outworn God and the hopes of man, and yet coheres, Propped by its own far-reaching bulk, as when It did emerge from savagery and grew, Oh, child! as yet may you, To worldly strength, and knowledge, and dead lore Of wisdom fled before, And dull content, and soulless hopes and fears. Wherever thou mayest be, To me thou art wonderful and strange to see -- Busied with trifles, rapt with simple toys, As men with graver joys. I hear thy lisping accents slowly reach The miracle of speech; I mark thy innocent smile; I treasure up each baby wile Which smooths the brow of thought, the front of care. Thou royal scion, born to be the heir Of all the unrecorded days, since first Man rose to his full being, once blest, and then accurst! In weal and woe and ill Thou art a miracle still. From snow-bound hut to equatorial strand, Above thee still regarding angels stand; While thy brief life-tale fleeteth like a dream Across Creation's glass. Dark powers of ill press thee on either side, As now thy swift years pass, Revealing on the young soul's tablets white The eternal characters of Right; Or sometimes with the growing years grown strong The unhallowed signs of wrong. Oh, little child! thou bringest with thee still, As Moses, parting from the fiery hill, Some dim reflection in thine eyes, Some sense of Godhead, some indefinite wonder As of one drifted here unwillingly; Who knows no speech of ours, and yet doth keep Some dumb remembrance of a gracious home Which lights his waking hours and fills his sleep With precious visions which unbidden come; Some golden link which nought of earth can sunder, Some glimpse of a more glorious land and sea! Oh, precious vision fleeting past! Oh, age too fair to last! For soon new gifts and powers are thine, And growing springs and summers bring Boyhood or girlhood hastening, And nerve the agile limb, and teach, With the new gift of speech, The wonders that stand round on every side, And Life's imperial portals opening gradually wide. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A POET TO HIS BABY SON by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON BABYHOOD by ELIZABETH AKERS ALLEN INFANCY by EDMUND JOHN ARMSTRONG BALLAD OF THE LAYETTE by WAYNE KOESTENBAUM A TOAST FOR LITTLE IRON MIKE by PAUL MARIANI THE PAMPERING OF LEORA by THYLIAS MOSS ONE FOR ALL NEWBORNS by THYLIAS MOSS IN THE THRIVING SEASON by LISEL MUELLER A CAROL by LEWIS MORRIS (1833-1907) |
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