Robert William Service (Роберт Уильям Сервис)
Man Child
All day he lay upon the sand When summer sun was bright, And let the grains sift through his hand With infantile delight; Just like a child, so soft and fair, Though he was twenty-five - An innocent, my mother -care Had kept so long alive. Oh it is hard to bear a cross For five-and-twenty years; A daft son and a husband's loss Are woes out-weighing tears. Yet bright and beautiful was he, Though barely could he walk; And when he signaled out to sea His talk was baby talk. The man I loved was drowned out there When we were ten weeks wed. 'Tis bitter hard a boy to bear That's fathered by the dead. And now I give my life to him Because he needs me so; And as I look my sight is dim With pity, love and woe... Then suddenly I see him rise, Tall, stalwart and serene... Lo! There he stands before my eyes, The man he might have been. "Dear Mother mine," I hear him say, "The curse that bound me fast, Some miracle has swept away, And all you pain is past. Now I am strong and sane and free, And you shall have your due; For as you loved and cherished me, I'll love and cherish you." His kisses sooth away my pain, His clasp is paradise... Then; then I look at him again With terror in my eyes: For down he sinks upon the sand, And heavy droops his head; The golden grains drift through his hand... I know; my boy is dead.
Robert William Service’s other poems:
898
