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THE MORNING MIST
A mist from the channel stole up the shore,
And crept o'er the sands to a cottage-door—
Through the door, half-opened, it entered in.
A woman, ragged, haggard, and wild,
Bent a tear-stained face on her sleeping child,
Fondling its fingers pallid and thin.
But lo! before her, the morning mist
Stooped softly down with its lips, and kissed
The babe in the cradle sleeping;
Then wrapped the child on its wreathfed arm,
And melted away in the sunlight warm;
Whilst the sun dried the mother's weeping.
