MOTHERS
(A Dialogue at Boston, Mass., U. S. A.)
"See there," he said, "my fair American!
Yon noisy child
I'd like to choke, being but 'brutal man;'
That Mother mild
"Takes all its howls for music, comforts it
With song and kiss:
And gives it, at the loudest of its fit,
Her milky bliss.
"And there again,—yon little lambkin bleating,
Made for mint-sauce:
At its first cry the Ewe quits clover-eating
And runs, perforce.
