Page:Poems Piatt.djvu/126

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112
DENIED.
II.

[THE MOTHER'S THOUGHT.]

It was my own sweet child—the one
Whose baby mouth breathes at my breast.
(A fairer and a brighter none,
Save His own Mother, ever prest
  Into diviner rest.)

He had escaped my arms and strayed
Into the pitiless world that night.
With wounded feet and faith betrayed,
Charmed backward by a glimmer of light,
  Almost he stood in sight.

Oh, I had let him ask in vain,
(Vague, lonesome, shadowy years ahead,)
My roof to hide him from the rain,
My lamp to comfort him, my bread,
  Who came as from the dead!