Читать книгу Songs of Womanhood - Alma-Tadema Laurence - Страница 2

King Baby on his throne

Sits reigning O, sits reigning O!

King Baby on his throne

Sits reigning all alone.

His throne is Mother's knee,

So tender O, so tender O!

His throne is Mother's knee,

Where none may sit but he.

His crown it is of gold,

So curly O, so curly O!

His crown it is of gold,

In shining tendrils rolled.

His kingdom is my heart,

So loyal O, so loyal O!

His kingdom is my heart,

His own in every part.

Divine are all his laws,

So simple O, so simple O!

Divine are all his laws,

With Love for end and cause.

King Baby on his throne

Sits reigning O, sits reigning O!

King Baby on his throne

Sits reigning all alone.

When the sun has left the hill-top,

And the daisy-fringe is furled,

When the birds from wood and meadow

In their hidden nests are curled,

Then I think of all the babies

That are sleeping in the world…

There are babies in the high lands

And babies in the low,

There are pale ones wrapped in furry skins

On the margin of the snow,

And brown ones naked in the isles,

Where all the spices grow.

And some are in the palace

On a white and downy bed,

And some are in the garret

With a clout beneath their head,

And some are on the cold hard earth,

Whose mothers have no bread.

O little men and women,

Dear flowers yet unblown!

O little kings and beggars

Of the pageant yet unshown!

Sleep soft and dream pale dreams now,

To-morrow is your own…

Though some shall walk in darkness,

And others in the light,

Though some shall smile and others weep

In the silence of the night,

When Life has touched with many hues

Your souls now clear and white:

God save you, little children!

And make your eyes to see

His finger pointing in the dark

Whatever you may be,

Till one and all, through Life and Death,

Pass to Eternity…

Dear were your kisses, baby boy,

Your weight upon my arm:

Gay were your tuneful cries of joy

As I danced you round the farm:

And sweet your softness when we lay

Laughing and cooing in the hay.

The summer sun will shine again,

Old arms will mow and reap;

There'll be new flowers on the plain,

New lambs among the sheep;

But never in this world of men

Shall we two be as we were then.

Your feet have touched the ground, my bird,

And now your wondering eyes

Will gaze no more as if they heard

A seraph in the skies:

A little boy, with leap and shout

You'll wildly chase your dreams about.

But when you are a man, soft thing,

And life has made you stern,

May we who watched you in your spring

Still feel our babe return

In hallowed moments, such as shine

When thought or deed makes man divine.

Little hands – what will you grasp

When you leave this nest, O?

Little arms – what will you clasp

Against that tender breast, O?

Cling to mother's finger, babe,

Throw sweet arms about me!

Here no noons may linger, babe,

Soon you'll love without me.

Little toes – where will you turn,

East or south or west, O?

Little feet – what sands that burn

Will you soon have pressed, O?

Lie on mother's knee, my own,

Dance your heels about me!

Apples leave the tree, my own,

Soon you'll live without me…

Robin-friend has gone to bed,

Little wing to hide his head —

Mother's bird must slumber too

Just as baby Robins do —

When the stars begin to rise,

Birds and babies close their eyes.

Baby moon, 'tis time for bed,

Owlet leaves his nest now;

Hide your little horned head

In the twilight west now;

When you're old and round and bright,

You shall stay and shine all night.

Baby girl is going too

In her bed to creep now;

She is little, just like you,

Time it is to sleep now;

When she's old and tired and wise,

She'll be glad to close her eyes.

Blow, wind, blow,

The fields are white with snow —

Sleeping daisies, deep and warm,

Cannot hear the Winter storm.

Freeze, air, freeze,

The rime is on the trees —

Sleeping buds within the bough,

Dream of spring and cuckoos now.

Turn, earth, turn,

The flames of life do burn —

Sleeping girl, my baby dove,

Knows no world but mother's love.

Hush, baby, hush,

Sweet robin's in the bush —

All the birdies lie so quiet,

Won't my little dicky try it?

Hush, baby, hush.

Sleep, baby, sleep,

The lammies love the sheep —

Woolly babes all nestle cosy,

Lie, my lambkin, warm and rosy,

Sleep, baby, sleep.

Dream, baby, dream,

Our feet are in the stream —

Stones below but stars above, child,

Life is warm so long we love, child,

Dream, baby, dream.

Baby's rather ill to-night,

Little face is long and white,

Eyes are all too large and bright —

What shall mother do now?

Never leave him out of sight,

Hold him warm and still and tight,

Make him well with all her might,

That's what she will do now.

Tiny mustn't frown

When she tumbles down;

If the wind should change – Ah me,

What a face her face would be!

Rub away the dirt,

Say she wasn't hurt;

What a world 'twould be – O my,

If all who fell began to cry!

Baby's got a new pelisse,

Very soft and very neat —

Like a lammy in her fleece

She's all white from head to feet.

Thirty lambs each gave a curl,

Mother sewed them, stitch by stitch —

All to clothe a baby-girl:

Don't you think she's very rich?

Whom does Miss belong to?

Just to Mother, Mother only:

That's whom Miss belongs to,

– And Mother's never lonely.

Whom's this little song to?

Just to Baby, Baby only:

That's whom little song's to,

– And Baby's never lonely.

Where do you come from, Mr. Jay? —

'From the land of Play, from the land of Play.'

And where can that be, Mr. Jay? —

'Far away – far away.'

Where do you come from, Mrs. Dove? —

'From the land of Love, from the land of Love.'

And how do you get there, Mrs. Dove? —

'Look above – look above.'

Where do you come from, Baby Miss? —

'From the land of Bliss, from the land of Bliss.'

And what is the way there, Baby Miss? —

'Mother's kiss – mother's kiss.'

When father takes his spade to dig,

Then Robin comes along;

He sits upon a little twig

And sings a little song.

Or, if the trees are rather far,

He does not stay alone,

But comes up close to where we are

And bobs upon a stone.

Little Master Mouse,

You'd better leave this house;

Crumbs are scarce upon the floor,

And pussy sleeps behind the door.

Mousie soft and grey,

I wish you'd run away!

Cook will catch you in a trap,

And mice mayn't sit in mother's lap…

Bat, Bat, that flies at night

When angels' breath has blown the light,

When all the bees are hived in bed

And swallow sleeps with hidden head:

Songless bird! until this hour,

Among the bells in the ivied tower

Have you hung dreaming in your house?

Are you a living wingèd mouse? —

Bat, Bat, I often doubt;

And when I see you flit about,

I wonder if the dead birds roam

In circles round their nestlings' home…

O Swallow! if I had your wings

I would not stay below;

I'd leave off catching flies and things

And up to Heaven I'd go.

I'd sail above the tallest tree

That waves its arms on high;

Beyond the furthest cloud we see,

And deeper than the sky.

Perhaps, when live birds find the way,

They're all sent down again,

And that is why you dive to-day

For insects in the rain.

Little ladies, white and green,

With your spears about you,

Will you tell us where you've been

Since we lived without you?

You are sweet, and fresh, and clean,

With your pearly faces;

In the dark earth where you've been

There are wondrous places:

Yet you come again, serene,

When the leaves are hidden;

Bringing joy from where you've been

You return unbidden —

Little ladies, white and green,

Are you glad to cheer us?

Hunger not for where you've been,

Stay till Spring be near us!

The flowers in the garden

Are very cold at night;

When I look out of window

Their beds are hard and white.

The primrose and the scilla,

The merry crocus too —

O Jane! if we were flowers,

What should we children do?

We'd have to sleep all naked

Beneath the windy trees;

Yet we should die, I know it,

With even a chemise…

Red cheeks, red cheeks,

Will you play with me?

No boy, pale boy,

I want to climb that tree.

Red cheeks, red cheeks,

You will tumble down —

No boy, pale boy,

I'll eat the apples brown.

Red cheeks, red cheeks,

Barns are best for rain —

No boy, pale boy,

I'll soon be down again.

In summer I am very glad

We children are so small,

For we can see a thousand things

That men can't see at all.

They don't know much about the moss

And all the stones they pass:

They never lie and play among

The forests in the grass:

They walk about a long way off;

And, when we're at the sea,

Let father stoop as best he can

He can't find things like me.

But, when the snow is on the ground

And all the puddles freeze,

I wish that I were very tall,