So fair the sun rose, yester-morn, <br /> The mountain-cliffs adoring! <br />The golden tassels of the corn <br /> Danced in the breath of morning; <br />The cool, clear stream that runs before, <br /> Such happy words was saying; <br />And in the open cottage door <br /> My pretty babe was playing. <br />Aslant the sill a sunbeam lay- <br /> I laughed, in carless pleasure, <br />To see his little hand essay <br /> To grasp the shinning treasure. <br /> <br />To-day no shafts of golden flame <br /> Across the sill are lying; <br />To-day I call my baby’s name, <br /> And hear no lisped replying: <br />To-day-ah, baby mine, to-day- <br /> God holds thee in his keeping! <br />And yet I weep, as one pale ray <br /> Breaks in upon thy sleeping; <br />I weep to see its shining band <br /> Reach, with a fond endeavor, <br />To where the little restless hands <br /> Are crossed in rest forever!<br /><br />Ina D. Coolbrith<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mother-s-grief-the/
