In dreadful times of tears and war <br />She sails, a little fixed star, <br />Or like a little ship she glides <br />With gentle winds and favouring tides <br />Up to the harbour bar. <br /> <br /> <br />Wrapped in all mild tranquillities <br />She muses: inward gaze her eyes; <br />And lest she slip upon a stone <br />Gabriel or some shining one <br />Guards her high destinies. <br /> <br /> <br />No rumour reaches her at all, <br />Beyond her safe encompassing wall, <br />Of a mad world that slays and slays: <br />She sees a little one that plays <br />And sleeps at evenfall. <br /> <br /> <br />She is in the House of Life: and where <br />She goes the angels bend to her, <br />A little secret garden-close, <br />Sweet with the lily and the rose, <br />With frankincense and myrrh.<br /><br />Katharine Tynan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-young-mother/
