Poems (Brown)/The Blind Child

by Carrie L. Brown

THE BLIND CHILD. 

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While soothing winds and soft mild air
Are fanning gently thine auburn hair,
And calm blue sky is clear above,
Which thou canst not see, O child of love,
The soft mild zephyrs breathe on thy check,
And the velvet rose is blushing meek,
Thy fond mother's eyes are tearful, yet kind,
As she looks on the face of little Clare—blind.

The arbor is cheerful as sunshine in May,
And thy sisters are dancing in merriest play;
The bees on the wing breathe the sweet-scented air,
While thou, my dear boy, so young and so fair,
Art lying all still in thy little white bed,
And catching with joy my echoing tread;
But the eye of thy mother is tearful, yet kind,
As she looks on the face of little Clare—blind.

Thy brothers are joining in boisterous play,
And, shouting aloud, are bounding away
To chase, with thy sisters, the bee on the wing,
And to laugh, and to dance, and merrily sing;
But thy mother is gazing, in agony wild,
On.the face of her boy, so calm, yet so mild,
And bows her crushed heart, and finds sweet relief
In deep scalding tears—the balm for all grief.

Thy couch is spread over with flowerets fair,
And wreaths of sweet jasmine are twined in thy hair;
But thy dark eyes forever are closed to the light,
And thine own mother's face imparts no delight;
She whispers thy name in tenderest tone,
But hears no sweet voice respond to her own;
Thy little pale hands are tossed in thy pain;
But O, my dear child, to die will be gain.