Poems (Blake)/To Edith

by Mary Elizabeth Blake

TO EDITH.

Darling little birthday maiden,
 Flower of autumn time,
With what dainty wishes laden
 Shall I weave my rhyme;
What of all the world has on it
 Seems most fair and dear
To gift the eyes that look upon it
 Wise with one short year?

Little one, life opens kindly,
 Full of light and fair,
Though you take it all so blindly,
 Sitting smiling there;
Not a mesh that love could sever
 Tangled round thy feet,—
Could we keep it so forever,—
 Hazel eyes, my sweet!

Who can tell how many changes
 Wait beside the way,
As life's onward pathway ranges
 Farther day by day;
Yet whatever time may measure
 Has its part to teach,
When the soul, through pain and pleasure,
 Gathers wealth front each.

So, though all a mother's longing
 Waits with passion fond,
With a thousand wishes thronging
 The dim years beyond,
Still I think from all God's giving
 Naught more blest could fall
Than the golden gift of living,
 Gathering strength from all.

Ah! you scarce see where I'm drifting,
 Filled with vague surprise,
To my face that pure brow lifting,
 And those hazel eyes!
Do not seek to know, my treasure,—
 Wait, in peace divine;
All too soon life's pain and pleasure
 Reach us, baby mine

Could I read the years before thee!
 Would I if I could?
Knowing still God watches o'er thee,
 And that He is good.
Rather let me clasp thee, holding
 All the years at bay,
In my life thy life enfolding
 As I do to-day.

So my little birthday maiden,
 Flower of autumn time,
With the heart's best wishes laden
 Take the halting rhyme.
All the gifts in Time's full coffers
 Piled before thy feet,
Show not half the love it offers,—
 Hazel eyes, my sweet.