Poems (Van Rensselaer)/The Child's Dream
THE CHILD'S DREAM
Last night I was a child that just had learned to die,
A child like me, but newly born
Into a beautiful morn
Of starry sky.
I saw the morning light,
Yet there were stars, silver and golden, softly bright.
A child like me, but newly born
Into a beautiful morn
Of starry sky.
I saw the morning light,
Yet there were stars, silver and golden, softly bright.
The stars were there, and music—for the shapes, white-clad,
Of angels, thousands, stood to sing,
All white of robe and wing.
A harp they had,
A viol, or a lute;
All sang but one; she smiled and held her harpstrings mute.
Of angels, thousands, stood to sing,
All white of robe and wing.
A harp they had,
A viol, or a lute;
All sang but one; she smiled and held her harpstrings mute.
My heart was full of tears; I laughed when I knew why:
The angel of the whitest wing,
She who cared not to sing,
Leaned from the sky
And smiled, and I could see
My mother's lovely eyes; my mother smiled at me.
The angel of the whitest wing,
She who cared not to sing,
Leaned from the sky
And smiled, and I could see
My mother's lovely eyes; my mother smiled at me.
In this our world I never saw my mother's face;
She died; she died as I was born.
But in that starry morn
I found the place
Where she abides, and knew
They were her eyes, and wept, yet laughed and kissed her too.
She died; she died as I was born.
But in that starry morn
I found the place
Where she abides, and knew
They were her eyes, and wept, yet laughed and kissed her too.