Low on her little stool she sits
To make a nursing lap,
And cares for nothing but the form
Her little arms enwrap.
With hairless skull that gapes apart,
A broken plaster ball,
One chipped glass eye that squints askew,
And ne’er a nose at all-
No raddle left on grimy cheek,
No mouth that one can see-
It scarce discloses, at a glance,
What it was meant to be.
But something in the simple scheme
As it extends below
(It is the “tidy” from my chair
That she is rumpling so)-
A certain folding of the stuff
That winds the thing about
(But still permits the sawdust gore
To trickle down and out)-
The way it curves around her waist,
On little knees outspread-
Implies a body frail and dear,
Whence one infers a head.
She rocks the scarecrow to and fro,
With croonings soft and deep,
A lullaby designed to hush
The bunch of rags to sleep.
I ask what rubbish has she there.
“My dolly,” she replies,
But tone and smile and gesture say,
“My angel from the skies.”
Ineffable the look of love
Cast on the hideous blur
That somehow means a precious face,
Most beautiful, to her.
The deftness and the tenderness
Of her caressing hands . . . . . .
How can she possibly divine
For what the creature stands?
Herself a nurseling, that has seen
The summers and the snows
Of scarce five years of baby life.
And yet she knows-she knows.
Just as a puppy of the pack
Knows unheard huntsman’s call,
And knows it is a running hound
Before it learns to crawl.
Just as she knew, when hardly born,
The breast unseen before,
And knew-how well!-before they touched,
What milk and mouth were for.
So, by some mystic extra-sense
Denied to eyes and ears,
Her spirit communes with its own
Beyond the veil of years.
She hears unechoing footsteps run
On floors she never trod,
Sees lineaments invisible
As is the face of God-
Forms she can recognise and greet,
Though wholly hid from me.
Alas! a treasure that is not,
And that may never be.
The majesty of motherhood
Sits on her baby brow;
Before her little three-legged throne
My grizzled head must bow.
That dingy bundle in her arms
Symbols immortal things-
A heritage, by right divine,
Beyond the claims of kings.
A few random poems:
- Beach Glass poem – Amy Clampitt poems | Poems and Poetry
- Second Epistle to Davie by Robert Burns
- Владимир Маяковский – Тебе тепло?.. (РОСТА №599)
- Олег Бундур – Ранним утром
- The Oak poem – Lord Alfred Tennyson poems
- The Choral Union by Siegfried Sassoon
- His Pilgrimage by Sir Walter Raleigh
- Владимир Степанов – Жучка и тучка
- Sonnet IX. Keen, Fitful Gusts Are poem – John Keats poems
- Evening Love Song by Rainer Maria Rilke
- Freemen by John Oxenham
- Илья Эренбург – Я бы мог прожить совсем иначе
- Юлия Друнина – А всё равно
- Robert Burns: The Lass That Made The Bed To Me :
- Sir Richard’s Song by Rudyard Kipling
External links
Bat’s Poetry Page – more poetry by Fledermaus
Talking Writing Monster’s Page –
Batty Writing – the bat’s idle chatter, thoughts, ideas and observations, all original, all fresh
Poems in English
- Юлия Друнина – Сверстницам
- Юлия Друнина – Страна Юность
- Юлия Друнина – Старый Крым
- Юлия Друнина – Старая лента, обугленный лес
- Юлия Друнина – Стал холоден мой тёплый старый дом
- Юлия Друнина – Сочетание
- Юлия Друнина – Слалом
- Юлия Друнина – Шторм
- Юлия Друнина – Ржавчина
- Юлия Друнина – Русский вечер
- Юлия Жадовская – Заколдованное сердце
- Юлия Жадовская – Я все хочу расслушать
- Юлия Жадовская – Всё ты уносишь, нещадное время
- Юлия Жадовская – Возврат весны
- Юлия Жадовская – Лучший перл таится
- Юлия Жадовская – Говорят придет пора
- Юлия Жадовская – Да, я вижу
- Юлия Жадовская – Чем ярче шумный пир
- Юлия Жадовская – Ах, бабушкин сад
- Юнна Мориц – Зимнее
More external links (open in a new tab):
Doska or the Board – write anything
Search engines:
Yandex – the best search engine for searches in Russian (and the best overall image search engine, in any language, anywhere)
Qwant – the best search engine for searches in French, German as well as Romance and Germanic languages.
Ecosia – a search engine that supposedly… plants trees
Duckduckgo – the real alternative and a search engine that actually works. Without much censorship or partisan politics.
Yahoo– yes, it’s still around, amazingly, miraculously, incredibly, but now it seems to be powered by Bing.
Parallel Translations of Poetry
The Poetry Repository – an online library of poems, poetry, verse and poetic works
Ada Cambridge (1844 – 1926), also known as Ada Cross, was an English-born Australian author and poetess. She wrote more than 25 works of fiction, three volumes of poetry and two autobiographical works.