The Son thou sentest forth is now a Thought- <br />A Dream. To all but thee he is as nought <br />As if he had gone back into the same <br />Bosom that bare him. Oh, thou grey pale Dame, <br />With eyes so wan and wide, what! knowest thou where <br />Thy Dream is such a thing as doth up-bear <br />The earth out of its wormy place? I' the air <br />Dost see the very fashion of the stone <br />That hath his face for clay? Deep, deep, hast found <br />The texture of that single weight of ground <br />Which to each mole and mark that thou hast known <br />Is special burden? Nay, her face is mild <br />And sweet. In Heaven the evening star is fair, <br />And there the mother looketh for her child.<br /><br />Sydney Thompson Dobell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/childless-2/
