The Project Gutenberg eBook ofSongs of WomanhoodThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: Songs of WomanhoodAuthor: Laurence Alma-TademaRelease date: August 19, 2011 [eBook #37132]Language: EnglishCredits: E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries (http://www.archive.org/details/toronto)*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONGS OF WOMANHOOD ***
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
Title: Songs of WomanhoodAuthor: Laurence Alma-TademaRelease date: August 19, 2011 [eBook #37132]Language: EnglishCredits: E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries (http://www.archive.org/details/toronto)
Title: Songs of Womanhood
Author: Laurence Alma-Tadema
Author: Laurence Alma-Tadema
Release date: August 19, 2011 [eBook #37132]
Language: English
Credits: E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries (http://www.archive.org/details/toronto)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONGS OF WOMANHOOD ***
BY THE SAME AUTHOR.Uniform with this Volume.REALMS OF UNKNOWN KINGS.The Athenæum.—'In this volume the critic recognises with sudden joy the work of a true poet.'The Saturday Review.—'It is a book in which deep feeling speaks ... and it has something of that essentially poetical thought, the thought that sees, which lies deeper than feeling.'LONDON: GRANT RICHARDS.
BY THE SAME AUTHOR.
Uniform with this Volume.
REALMS OF UNKNOWN KINGS.
The Athenæum.—'In this volume the critic recognises with sudden joy the work of a true poet.'
The Saturday Review.—'It is a book in which deep feeling speaks ... and it has something of that essentially poetical thought, the thought that sees, which lies deeper than feeling.'
LONDON: GRANT RICHARDS.
A great number of the following verses are already known to readers ofThe Herb o' Grace, and of the little reprint,Songs of Childhood. As these pamphlets, however, did not reach the public, it has been thought advisable to re-issue the verses in book-form, together with three or four more collected from various reviews, and a number that are here printed for the first time.
L.A.T.
PAGECHILDHOODKING BABY3A BLESSING FOR THE BLESSED5TO RAOUL BOUCHARD8TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW10THE NESTING HOUR11THE LITTLE SISTER—Bath-time12Bed-time13A TWILIGHT SONG14A WINTRY LULLABY15THE WARM CRADLE16THE DROOPING FLOWER17MOTHERS IN THE GARDEN—I.18II.19THE GRAVEL PATH20THE NEW PELISSE21SOLACE22STRANGE LANDS23MARCH MEADOWS—A Lark24Lambs25THE ROBIN26THE MOUSE27THE BAT28THE SWALLOW29SNOWDROPS30FROST32APPLES33LONELY CHILDREN—I.34II.35PLAYGROUNDS36FAIRINGS38THE FLOWER TO THE BUD40SIX SONGS OF GIRLHOODLOVE AND THE MAIDENS43AWAKENINGS44THE CLOUDED SOUL46THE HEALER47THE OPEN DOOR48THE FUGITIVE49THE FAITHFUL WIFE53WOMANHOODA WOMAN TO HER POET63THE INFIDEL64LOVE WITHIN VOWS65THE EXILE66THE SCAR INDELIBLE67REVULSION68THE CAPTIVE69POSSESSION'S ANGUISH70TREASURES OF POVERTY72SOLITUDE73THE HEART ASLEEP74ADVERSITY75FACES OF THE DEAD76THE SLEEPER80STARS81TRELAWNY'S GRAVE82V.R.I.—JANUARY 22, 190183LINES ON A PICTURE BY MARY GOW84TO SERENITY85ELEVEN SONNETS89THE OPEN AIRSUNSHINE IN FEBRUARY103THE CUCKOO104A SONG IN THE MORNING107IN A LONDON SQUARE109THE CALL OF THE GREEN111SUMMER ENDING112NEAR AUTUMN114NOVEMBER115THE COMMON WEALTH117
King Baby on his throneSits reigning O, sits reigning O!King Baby on his throneSits reigning all alone.His throne is Mother's knee,So tender O, so tender O!His throne is Mother's knee,Where none may sit but he.His crown it is of gold,So curly O, so curly O!His crown it is of gold,In shining tendrils rolled.His kingdom is my heart,[4]So loyal O, so loyal O!His kingdom is my heart,His own in every part.Divine are all his laws,So simple O, so simple O!Divine are all his laws,With Love for end and cause.King Baby on his throneSits reigning O, sits reigning O!King Baby on his throneSits reigning all alone.
King Baby on his throneSits reigning O, sits reigning O!King Baby on his throneSits reigning all alone.
His throne is Mother's knee,So tender O, so tender O!His throne is Mother's knee,Where none may sit but he.
His crown it is of gold,So curly O, so curly O!His crown it is of gold,In shining tendrils rolled.
His kingdom is my heart,[4]So loyal O, so loyal O!His kingdom is my heart,His own in every part.
Divine are all his laws,So simple O, so simple O!Divine are all his laws,With Love for end and cause.
King Baby on his throneSits reigning O, sits reigning O!King Baby on his throneSits reigning all alone.
When the sun has left the hill-top,And the daisy-fringe is furled,When the birds from wood and meadowIn their hidden nests are curled,Then I think of all the babiesThat are sleeping in the world....There are babies in the high landsAnd babies in the low,There are pale ones wrapped in furry skinsOn the margin of the snow,And brown ones naked in the isles,Where all the spices grow.And some are in the palace[6]On a white and downy bed,And some are in the garretWith a clout beneath their head,And some are on the cold hard earth,Whose mothers have no bread.O little men and women,Dear flowers yet unblown!O little kings and beggarsOf the pageant yet unshown!Sleep soft and dream pale dreams now,To-morrow is your own....Though some shall walk in darkness,And others in the light,Though some shall smile and others weepIn the silence of the night,When Life has touched with many huesYour souls now clear and white:God save you, little children![7]And make your eyes to seeHis finger pointing in the darkWhatever you may be,Till one and all, through Life and Death,Pass to Eternity....
When the sun has left the hill-top,And the daisy-fringe is furled,When the birds from wood and meadowIn their hidden nests are curled,Then I think of all the babiesThat are sleeping in the world....
There are babies in the high landsAnd babies in the low,There are pale ones wrapped in furry skinsOn the margin of the snow,And brown ones naked in the isles,Where all the spices grow.
And some are in the palace[6]On a white and downy bed,And some are in the garretWith a clout beneath their head,And some are on the cold hard earth,Whose mothers have no bread.
O little men and women,Dear flowers yet unblown!O little kings and beggarsOf the pageant yet unshown!Sleep soft and dream pale dreams now,To-morrow is your own....
Though some shall walk in darkness,And others in the light,Though some shall smile and others weepIn the silence of the night,When Life has touched with many huesYour souls now clear and white:
God save you, little children![7]And make your eyes to seeHis finger pointing in the darkWhatever you may be,Till one and all, through Life and Death,Pass to Eternity....
Dear were your kisses, baby boy,Your weight upon my arm:Gay were your tuneful cries of joyAs I danced you round the farm:And sweet your softness when we layLaughing and cooing in the hay.The summer sun will shine again,Old arms will mow and reap;There'll be new flowers on the plain,New lambs among the sheep;But never in this world of menShall we two be as we were then.Your feet have touched the ground, my bird,[9]And now your wondering eyesWill gaze no more as if they heardA seraph in the skies:A little boy, with leap and shoutYou'll wildly chase your dreams about.But when you are a man, soft thing,And life has made you stern,May we who watched you in your springStill feel our babe returnIn hallowed moments, such as shineWhen thought or deed makes man divine.
Dear were your kisses, baby boy,Your weight upon my arm:Gay were your tuneful cries of joyAs I danced you round the farm:And sweet your softness when we layLaughing and cooing in the hay.
The summer sun will shine again,Old arms will mow and reap;There'll be new flowers on the plain,New lambs among the sheep;But never in this world of menShall we two be as we were then.
Your feet have touched the ground, my bird,[9]And now your wondering eyesWill gaze no more as if they heardA seraph in the skies:A little boy, with leap and shoutYou'll wildly chase your dreams about.
But when you are a man, soft thing,And life has made you stern,May we who watched you in your springStill feel our babe returnIn hallowed moments, such as shineWhen thought or deed makes man divine.
Little hands—what will you graspWhen you leave this nest, O?Little arms—what will you claspAgainst that tender breast, O?Cling to mother's finger, babe,Throw sweet arms about me!Here no noons may linger, babe,Soon you'll love without me.Little toes—where will you turn,East or south or west, O?Little feet—what sands that burnWill you soon have pressed, O?Lie on mother's knee, my own,Dance your heels about me!Apples leave the tree, my own,Soon you'll live without me....
Little hands—what will you graspWhen you leave this nest, O?Little arms—what will you claspAgainst that tender breast, O?Cling to mother's finger, babe,Throw sweet arms about me!Here no noons may linger, babe,Soon you'll love without me.
Little toes—where will you turn,East or south or west, O?Little feet—what sands that burnWill you soon have pressed, O?Lie on mother's knee, my own,Dance your heels about me!Apples leave the tree, my own,Soon you'll live without me....
Robin-friend has gone to bed,Little wing to hide his head—Mother's bird must slumber tooJust as baby Robins do—When the stars begin to rise,Birds and babies close their eyes.
Robin-friend has gone to bed,Little wing to hide his head—Mother's bird must slumber tooJust as baby Robins do—When the stars begin to rise,Birds and babies close their eyes.
Baby's got no legs at all,They're soft and pinky, crumpled things;If he stood up he'd only fall:But then, you see, he's used to wings.
Baby's got no legs at all,They're soft and pinky, crumpled things;If he stood up he'd only fall:But then, you see, he's used to wings.
Baby baby bye,Close your little eye!When the dark begins to creep,Tiny-wees must go to sleep.Lammy lammy lie,I am seven, I;Little boys must sleep and wait,If they want their bed-time late.Fidgy fidgy fie,There's no need to cry!Soon you'll never dress in white,But sit up working half the night....
Baby baby bye,Close your little eye!When the dark begins to creep,Tiny-wees must go to sleep.
Lammy lammy lie,I am seven, I;Little boys must sleep and wait,If they want their bed-time late.
Fidgy fidgy fie,There's no need to cry!Soon you'll never dress in white,But sit up working half the night....
Baby moon, 'tis time for bed,Owlet leaves his nest now;Hide your little horned headIn the twilight west now;When you're old and round and bright,You shall stay and shine all night.Baby girl is going tooIn her bed to creep now;She is little, just like you,Time it is to sleep now;When she's old and tired and wise,She'll be glad to close her eyes.
Baby moon, 'tis time for bed,Owlet leaves his nest now;Hide your little horned headIn the twilight west now;When you're old and round and bright,You shall stay and shine all night.
Baby girl is going tooIn her bed to creep now;She is little, just like you,Time it is to sleep now;When she's old and tired and wise,She'll be glad to close her eyes.
Blow, wind, blow,The fields are white with snow—Sleeping daisies, deep and warm,Cannot hear the Winter storm.Freeze, air, freeze,The rime is on the trees—Sleeping buds within the bough,Dream of spring and cuckoos now.Turn, earth, turn,The flames of life do burn—Sleeping girl, my baby dove,Knows no world but mother's love.
Blow, wind, blow,The fields are white with snow—Sleeping daisies, deep and warm,Cannot hear the Winter storm.
Freeze, air, freeze,The rime is on the trees—Sleeping buds within the bough,Dream of spring and cuckoos now.
Turn, earth, turn,The flames of life do burn—Sleeping girl, my baby dove,Knows no world but mother's love.
Hush, baby, hush,Sweet robin's in the bush—All the birdies lie so quiet,Won't my little dicky try it?Hush, baby, hush.Sleep, baby, sleep,The lammies love the sheep—Woolly babes all nestle cosy,Lie, my lambkin, warm and rosy,Sleep, baby, sleep.Dream, baby, dream,Our feet are in the stream—Stones below but stars above, child,Life is warm so long we love, child,Dream, baby, dream.
Hush, baby, hush,Sweet robin's in the bush—All the birdies lie so quiet,Won't my little dicky try it?Hush, baby, hush.
Sleep, baby, sleep,The lammies love the sheep—Woolly babes all nestle cosy,Lie, my lambkin, warm and rosy,Sleep, baby, sleep.
Dream, baby, dream,Our feet are in the stream—Stones below but stars above, child,Life is warm so long we love, child,Dream, baby, dream.
Baby's rather ill to-night,Little face is long and white,Eyes are all too large and bright—What shall mother do now?Never leave him out of sight,Hold him warm and still and tight,Make him well with all her might,That's what she will do now.
Baby's rather ill to-night,Little face is long and white,Eyes are all too large and bright—What shall mother do now?
Never leave him out of sight,Hold him warm and still and tight,Make him well with all her might,That's what she will do now.
Wagtail—pied Wagtail—What tremor's in your breast?On nimble feet, when we draw near,You run about to hide your fear,As if to say: There's nothing here,I have no nest....Wagtail—pied Wagtail—We too their voices heard;Away then to the water-side,And fetch the food for which they cried;From us there is no need to hide,My dainty bird.
Wagtail—pied Wagtail—What tremor's in your breast?On nimble feet, when we draw near,You run about to hide your fear,As if to say: There's nothing here,I have no nest....
Wagtail—pied Wagtail—We too their voices heard;Away then to the water-side,And fetch the food for which they cried;From us there is no need to hide,My dainty bird.
The thrushes' nest has fallenFrom the ivy on the wall:The dear blue eggs are broken,All broken by the fall.But we heard a song at sundownThat said: O tears are vain!—And babe and I ceased grieving:We think they will build again.
The thrushes' nest has fallenFrom the ivy on the wall:The dear blue eggs are broken,All broken by the fall.
But we heard a song at sundownThat said: O tears are vain!—And babe and I ceased grieving:We think they will build again.
Tiny mustn't frownWhen she tumbles down;If the wind should change—Ah me,What a face her face would be!Rub away the dirt,Say she wasn't hurt;What a world 'twould be—O my,If all who fell began to cry!
Tiny mustn't frownWhen she tumbles down;If the wind should change—Ah me,What a face her face would be!
Rub away the dirt,Say she wasn't hurt;What a world 'twould be—O my,If all who fell began to cry!
Baby's got a new pelisse,Very soft and very neat—Like a lammy in her fleeceShe's all white from head to feet.Thirty lambs each gave a curl,Mother sewed them, stitch by stitch—All to clothe a baby-girl:Don't you think she's very rich?
Baby's got a new pelisse,Very soft and very neat—Like a lammy in her fleeceShe's all white from head to feet.
Thirty lambs each gave a curl,Mother sewed them, stitch by stitch—All to clothe a baby-girl:Don't you think she's very rich?
Whom does Miss belong to?Just to Mother, Mother only:That's whom Miss belongs to,—And Mother's never lonely.Whom's this little song to?Just to Baby, Baby only:That's whom little song's to,—And Baby's never lonely.
Whom does Miss belong to?Just to Mother, Mother only:That's whom Miss belongs to,—And Mother's never lonely.
Whom's this little song to?Just to Baby, Baby only:That's whom little song's to,—And Baby's never lonely.