Page:The Bengali Book of English Verse.djvu/144

My one bliss, and would you lonely
Leave my heart,
Thus from mother's lap to part?
O what is it, charm of charms,
Seek your lips incarnadine,
Stretching forth your little arms,
With that cry divine?
Enchantment! art thou not only
Mine?

Fret not so, nor fear my raiment:
Heed not thou!
Softly though he flatters now.
Woods nor whispers thinks she sweet,
Mother, to thy vague murmurs:
Men, the world, the roaring street,
Father, he prefers.
Hers you are 'gainst every claimant,
Hers!

Leave him! Not a kiss deserves he
Lonely here
To forsake us, baby dear.
Toils and troubles all the week
They possess him, toils like tares
For the rose of baby's cheek
Not a thought he cares.
'Tis for them his heart preserves he,
Theirs!

Laughing, see, has baby known him,
And small hands
Stretching out, his beard demands.
O his flattery well I know,
Sweet he comes, as April showers;