^ 
 
 Cop}TightN^_ 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 
 
VERSES TO A BABY 
 
 BY 
 GRACE D. E. RICHARDSON 
 
 1 
 
 PRIVATELY PRINTED ' 
 
 1917 I 
 
.6 -J^ 
 
 Copyright, 1917 
 By G. D. E. Richardson 
 
 DEC 31 1917 
 
 ©aA48i:^0G 
 
 'OK'H? 
 
 \ 
 
M. E. K. 
 
 1^. Of whom this little handful of verses was written 
 
 "^ long ago. 
 
 A 
 
 ^ 
 
 
I. 
 
 A roseleaf lies the baby on her breast, 
 
 Curve following curve, the answering hearts 
 
 close pressed, 
 Sorrow is past, the birth pangs are at rest. 
 
 The little fingers round her own are fast; 
 Ah God, could mortal mother guide her past 
 This world of pitfalls into peace at last ! 
 
II. 
 
 When through the mystic marches of the years 
 A vibrant message, low but clearly ringing, 
 Caught my still heart across the pulsing spheres. 
 The many lighted stars themselves were singing. 
 
 Like swift flames came the message through 
 
 the night, 
 Like beating seraph wings the dark air cleaving, 
 Like a vast radiant web of amber light 
 From cunning loom, far beyond mortal weaving. 
 
 ''Be thine oil fragrant and thy garments fair; 
 Behold One cometh ! Let thy light be burning ; 
 Houseless this Stranger if thou be not there ; 
 Watch, and faint not, the day will ease thy 
 yearning. ' ^ 
 
Pale with the watch and with the soul's long 
 
 fast, 
 Bewildering sweet at daylight 's early dimming, 
 A cry, new-born, fruit of the vigil past, 
 Joins the deep music that Love's choirs are 
 
 hymning. 
 
 Now endless joy with breathless rapture rife 
 Drives sorrow forth. Now Love's great tides are 
 
 surging, 
 Proud and sweet waters of the Sea of Life, 
 Ourselves and thee in its vast ambient merging. 
 
III. 
 
 Pain that I bore for you was pain exultant ; 
 blessed Dolor that did set you free ! 
 Love that I have for you is love transcendant ; 
 O gentlest love, whose rise is mystery. 
 
 In the green fields of June I heard your heart- 
 beat, 
 Low, but above the song of many birds ; 
 Sweeter than music of the harp ecstatic, 
 Softer than evensong's most holy words. 
 
 Through the rich summer of your fair fruition. 
 Through the ripe beauty of the flaming year, 
 So came you to the day of your fulfilment. 
 The day of glorious wonder and sweet fear. 
 
Now are you safe within our arms expectant, 
 Now is the tender beauty of you seen ; 
 A roseleaf flushed, of the divinest texture, 
 A priceless pearl of fairest roseate sheen. 
 
 Each little limb in perfect beauty moulded. 
 No gracious curve of your sweet body missed. 
 Surely the angels must have drawn such out- 
 lines, 
 The Sons of Morning your sweet lips have 
 kissed. 
 
 So have we touched the hem of Love Triumph- 
 ant, 
 So have we walked the path of sacrifice. 
 So are we gods because we know creation, 
 So are we suppliants praying with shut eyes. 
 
IV. 
 
 Mary, mother of a little child, 
 Thou hast not said if thou didst love him just 
 In this same aching-sweet consuming way 
 We common mothers must. 
 
 Thou hast not told if those slow-threaded days, 
 While he was hid with thee, heart under heart, 
 Tissue of thine, life in thy life enshrined, 
 Were holy-days, apart. 
 
 Nor if that rapturous thrill, immense, profound, 
 Shook thy soul 's city when he first was laid. 
 No gift of answering love, within thine arms, 
 Mary Mother, Mary Maid ! 
 
 O blessed Mother ! In thy quiet eyes 
 We read no vision of the bleeding cross ; 
 Hadst thou no foretaste of immortal pain. 
 Or of thy mortal loss ! 
 
V. 
 
 Of all the angel-children that I know, 
 Raphael's, and Rubens', Titian's, and the rest, 
 None are as little and as young, and so 
 You will stay here and make your mother blest. 
 
 Yes, I have seen them in their circling sky. 
 Dear little smiling things, as you can smile. 
 And wonder-eyed, and grave like you and shy; 
 But they had been on earth a longer while. 
 
 Except, for I do speak but truth to j^ou. 
 That your clear eyes may know of mistrust, — 
 So I must tell that Perugino drew 
 Aroimd his throned Madonna, babies just 
 
 As little and as young, my Sweet, as you, 
 ^Vho never had a birthdaj^ here on earth ; 
 All prism-winged they are, but angels too. 
 The little children of the heavenly birth. 
 
 10 
 
But he is only one and could not know ; 
 Raphael, and Rubens, Titian, and the rest, 
 Left such as you in mothers' arms, and so 
 I hold you closer to my happy breast. 
 
 11 
 
VI. 
 
 Oh darling, on adoring knees I kiss them, 
 The little unshod feet; 
 Not even to the mighty turbaned Magi 
 Could worship be more sweet. 
 
 When Syrian shepherds found the starlit 
 
 manger 
 And shining angel guards, 
 Your little brother Christ stretched out to bless 
 
 them, 
 His baby hands, unsearred. 
 
 Your little holy hands bless me, your mother, 
 By morn and night and noon. 
 And joy that passeth all man's understanding 
 Floods like a radiant moon. 
 
 12 
 
VII. 
 
 When first your eyes looked into mine, 
 You little Wonder-thing, 
 The Spring awoke, the small birds sang, 
 All round the world the great bells rang, 
 For Love had crowned her king. 
 
 When first your darling rose-stained hand 
 
 Strayed to my bended head, 
 
 No mitred churchman's signet gage, 
 
 Saint Peter's splendid heritage, 
 
 Such blessings rich could shed. 
 
 When first your new-waked questioning soul 
 Unbarred its fluttering smile. 
 Your sweet lips' portal seemed a shrine 
 Where little stars their garlands twine, 
 Forgetting heaven awhile. 
 
 13 
 
VIII. 
 
 Who so sweet and who so strong, 
 Who so blithe, and maybe 
 Who has a will and a way of her own 
 To equal this treasure-baby ? 
 
 Who has dimples in every nook, 
 
 Who has smiles to match them, 
 
 Whose eyes are windows of sun-flecked gray 
 
 With curling fringe to latch them? 
 
 Who has amber hair so sheen. 
 
 Whose rosy tongue can chatter 
 
 The dearest nonsense that ever was heard, 
 
 As if 'twas the wisest matter? 
 
 Who so dear, so dear to hug. 
 
 And what has life to equal 
 
 The flower-sweet kisses on neck and knees, 
 
 And the last little toe of the sequel? 
 
 14 
 
IX. 
 
 Up, up, and in your saddle ! 
 
 Up, up, and race away ! 
 
 For now has come that best of times 
 
 In all our busy day. 
 
 Your mount is at the dooryard, 
 Come, let me toss you up ; 
 Don't stop to clasp that pricking spur, 
 Or taste the stirrup cup. 
 
 Look, now he's wildly champing, 
 The grooms can't hold him in; 
 Come, do not wait for crop or whip, 
 For you must have your spin. 
 
 There, now you're off; now steady. 
 Now settle to your pace ; 
 Between the walls of roses red, 
 I catch your smiling face. 
 
 15 
 
Here, draw rein at the toll-gates, 
 They 'd never do to miss, 
 The first is at the window wide, 
 The next is for a kiss ; 
 
 Last comes the old, old mirror, 
 Ere we reach little bed ; 
 It never in its hundred years 
 Showed such a darling head 
 
 Or sweeter body, soft and fair, 
 In dear content close pressed — 
 Far-away smiles, and drowsy eyes- 
 Against her father's breast. 
 
 16 
 
X 
 
 Who 's this enchanting water-sprite ! 
 This wanton in her ocean tub ! 
 Did ever little mermaid wight, 
 Risk such a drowning for a scrub 1 
 
 She challenges so archly gay 
 Beneath her showery rainbow veil, 
 Such porpoises as round her play 
 To join her in a reckless sail. 
 
 The soap and soap-dish (jolly tar) 
 
 Are off again for Sandy Hook, 
 
 We 11 overtake them at the bar. 
 
 And bring them back by book and crook. 
 
 The bubbling ball has caught the tide. 
 Farewell, farewell, her gallant crew ! 
 She's straining for the ocean wide, 
 Heigho ! Heigho ! She's lost to view. 
 
 17 
 
Come weigh our anchor, scrub is done, 
 You rogue ! you'll bring the tub in too? 
 Diogenes would share his sun 
 For one philosopher like you ! 
 
 18 
 
XI. 
 
 And do you think 
 The roses on the wall, 
 This one so pink 
 And this so tall, 
 Or that tiny blush one. 
 Not half as sweet as you, 
 Will keep our little secrets 
 Hidden out of view ? 
 
 For if they told, 
 
 As other flowers might. 
 
 Of our kisses bold. 
 
 What a shocking plight ! 
 
 Or if they should whisper 
 
 Your hundred little names. 
 
 Those very dear and queer ones. 
 
 Why, there 's the Court of Claims ! 
 
 19 
 
But they do know, 
 Those roses on the wall, 
 We have told them so, 
 Pink, and blush, and all. 
 That your very true name. 
 Waiting till you're grown, 
 Is far the dearest, sweetest one 
 That dearest child could own. 
 
 20 
 
XII. 
 
 What a happy dandelion, 
 With his tousled yellow pate, 
 For this treasure-baby wants him 
 As her own play-day mate. 
 
 Not in little red round mouth-trap ; 
 If you love him such a way, 
 Poor frightened little dandelion 
 Will hardly care to stay. 
 
 Feel how silken soft his fringes 
 Brushing round your peachy cheek, 
 Ah ! you're smiling as he hoped for. 
 If he played hide and seek. 
 
 21 
 
XIII. 
 
 The sun for us has mined this golden day, 
 For us the bluebird 's wing has brushed the sky, 
 Here on the rose-bound terrace we will stay, 
 Dear little best-belov'd, her mother, I. 
 
 Just she and I and all the world well lost, 
 Save Love who's watching at the unlatched 
 
 gate, 
 We'll let him in whatever be the cost 
 And tell him he must loiter with us late. 
 
 Down in the garden it is waking June, 
 See the red poppy lanterns how they shine, 
 The meadow lark begins his plaintive tune. 
 His sweetheart listens, happy, so does mine. 
 
 ^ 
 
And here's the bluff bee grumbling as he goes, 
 Your wondering eyes close follow his slow 
 
 flight, 
 A highwaj^ thief ; they count him with their foes 
 Those glowing roses of our dear delight. 
 
 The humming-bird now draws his lightning 
 
 lance, 
 A buccaneer he is and not a lover, 
 Our little flowers pale before his glance, 
 Their darling heads they droop and fly to cover. 
 
 This world is old and our sweet love is young, 
 But as you smile at me I wonder whether 
 Such riftless music, silent yet or sung 
 Through age-long years, could bind more close 
 together. 
 
 23 
 
XIY. 
 
 Now tell me, do the pixies, 
 Now tell me if you can. 
 Do Puck and all his elfin mates, 
 Those little men in tan. 
 
 Come crowding round your pillow 
 When we 're not there to hear. 
 And whisper these entrancing songs 
 In your sweet listening ear ? 
 
 For how else have you learned them. 
 How caught their merry lilt. 
 Tell me what are their tuning-forks. 
 Are their fifes silver-gilt? 
 
 24 
 
XV. 
 
 What are you like, my Treasure ? 
 And if I dared to say, 
 There are not happy words enough 
 From here to far Cathay. 
 
 You are my Easter morning, 
 
 You are my Christmastide 
 
 And life and love and sun and flower, 
 
 All my heart asks beside. 
 
 25 
 
XVI. 
 
 Dear little hands and feet 
 80 sweet, 
 So rose and white 
 That one could quite 
 Forget all other things 
 And Time's quick wings, 
 To stay and kiss 
 Were bliss. 
 
 Dear little eager smile 
 
 Whose lure and wile 
 
 Hath caught us in love's net 
 
 And debt, 
 
 Now arch, now innocent. 
 
 Now gleeful, now content, 
 
 Such full largess 
 
 Doth bless. 
 
 20 
 
Ah matchless sunlit eyes ! 
 In glad surprise 
 From their soft shelter looks 
 The fearless soul, nor brooks 
 A world where pain or sin 
 Or grief can enter in, 
 Or blight 
 Assoil its white. 
 
 «7 
 
XVII. 
 
 The song of silence in her eyes, 
 The whispered smile that in them lies, 
 The love that wears a witching guise. 
 These mark my road to Paradise. 
 
 28 
 
XVIII. 
 
 Kose-sweet the baby lies, 
 Hushed in her little bed, 
 Faint hair all halo-wise, 
 Circling her head. 
 
 29 
 
XIX. 
 
 Do I know the bluebird, 
 Do I know the lark, 
 Do I know in you, my Sweet, 
 Love's high water mark? 
 
 30 
 
XX. 
 
 Sweet beyond music is your wordless song, 
 Hid is its meaning like deep jewels at sea, 
 Lost is the cipher lest we read it wrong. 
 And break the rhythm of our ecstasy. 
 
 31 
 
XXI. 
 
 I don't know how those mothers love 
 Who are more practised, Sweet ; 
 I only know I love you, from 
 Fair head to little feet. 
 
 And every dimple on the way 
 Just picks up something more, 
 Until I wonder how you can 
 Bear such a heavy score. 
 
 32 
 
XXII. 
 
 Although we set the cadence of each hour, 
 
 What time sweet lips shall open to the Milky- 
 way, 
 
 What time sweet eyes shall close, their fringes 
 fall 
 
 Like misty shadows on a cloud-flecked day ; 
 
 Although, in dear dependence and accord. 
 She answers to the rhythm our halting wisdom 
 
 set 
 Smiles of bewildering radiance and the touch 
 Of little hands that stir and thrill ; but yet, 
 
 In that rose garden where her soul is hid. 
 We may not enter though we vainly pray ; 
 She holds a commune that we may not guess, 
 A tryst with some fair spirit far away. 
 
XXIII. 
 
 When you come back from that dim land and 
 
 low 
 Where the pale poppy mists of sleep enfold, 
 Where its faint borders fade to phantom gold 
 And all the rainbow colors cease to glow ; 
 When in their stead your own bright roses show 
 Their joyous welcome through the winter's 
 
 cold, 
 Climbing your nursery walls, like lovers bold, 
 To watch your quiet slumber 's ebb and flow ; 
 First wonder wakes, then follows glad surprise, 
 Then gayest smiles chase o'er your flower- 
 soft face 
 And hide away in your deep mystic eyes, 
 To know you are again in this dear place. 
 So do you tell us, in the clearest way, 
 This kind old world is where ycu choose to stay. 
 
 31 
 
XXIV. 
 
 Ah could you see, in my deep-chambered heart, 
 Its inmost altar, sacro-sanct, concealed, 
 Where lie the holy things we trembling shield 
 From the quick comment of the jostling mart; 
 There should you find white-flowering and 
 
 apart 
 From all the flexile loves life 's ranges yield, 
 Deep set in sacrifice, by tears annealed, 
 The love that with your tremulous life had 
 
 start. 
 Yours, it is yours, on your dear need it waits, 
 Nor ever shall its bloom or leafage cease, 
 But its high service be to lift the gates 
 Of eager childhood on Life 's wider lease ; 
 So shall you see the Vision through the veil, 
 So join the seekers of the crimson Grail. 
 
 85 
 
Cook's Printing Office, 
 Yardley, Pennsylvania