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Songs of Womanhood

Chapter 8: Bed-time:
By Laurence Alma-Tadema
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About This Book

A sequence of lyrical poems grouped into stages of life—childhood, girlhood and womanhood—blending simple nursery verses and lullabies with pastoral and seasonal pieces, sonnets, and reflective lyrics. Recurring motifs include maternal care, childhood innocence, longing and memory, fidelity and solitude, and close natural imagery such as birds, lambs and changing weather. Many poems adopt a tender, intimate voice addressing children or a beloved, while others move into melancholic or contemplative registers that consider love, loss and inner life, creating a varied yet unified portrait of emotion and domestic experience.

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Title: Songs of Womanhood

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 ***

 

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)

 

Note: Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries. See http://www.archive.org/details/songsofwomanhood00almauoft

 

 

 

 

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.








Songs of Womanhood







BY

LAURENCE ALMA TADEMA










GRANT RICHARDS
48 LEICESTER SQUARE
LONDON
1903








Edinburgh: Printed by T. and A. Constable






A great number of the following verses are already known to readers of The 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.






Contents


  PAGE
CHILDHOOD  
KING BABY 3
A BLESSING FOR THE BLESSED 5
TO RAOUL BOUCHARD 8
TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW 10
THE NESTING HOUR 11
THE LITTLE SISTER—  
Bath-time 12
Bed-time 13
A TWILIGHT SONG 14
A WINTRY LULLABY 15
THE WARM CRADLE 16
THE DROOPING FLOWER 17
MOTHERS IN THE GARDEN—  
I. 18
II. 19
THE GRAVEL PATH 20
THE NEW PELISSE 21
SOLACE 22
STRANGE LANDS 23
MARCH MEADOWS—  
A Lark 24
Lambs 25
THE ROBIN 26
THE MOUSE 27
THE BAT 28
THE SWALLOW 29
SNOWDROPS 30
FROST 32
APPLES 33
LONELY CHILDREN—  
I. 34
II. 35
PLAYGROUNDS 36
FAIRINGS 38
THE FLOWER TO THE BUD 40
SIX SONGS OF GIRLHOOD  
LOVE AND THE MAIDENS 43
AWAKENINGS 44
THE CLOUDED SOUL 46
THE HEALER 47
THE OPEN DOOR 48
THE FUGITIVE 49
THE FAITHFUL WIFE 53
WOMANHOOD  
A WOMAN TO HER POET 63
THE INFIDEL 64
LOVE WITHIN VOWS 65
THE EXILE 66
THE SCAR INDELIBLE 67
REVULSION 68
THE CAPTIVE 69
POSSESSION'S ANGUISH 70
TREASURES OF POVERTY 72
SOLITUDE 73
THE HEART ASLEEP 74
ADVERSITY 75
FACES OF THE DEAD 76
THE SLEEPER 80
STARS 81
TRELAWNY'S GRAVE 82
V.R.I.—JANUARY 22, 1901 83
LINES ON A PICTURE BY MARY GOW 84
TO SERENITY 85
ELEVEN SONNETS 89
THE OPEN AIR  
SUNSHINE IN FEBRUARY 103
THE CUCKOO 104
A SONG IN THE MORNING 107
IN A LONDON SQUARE 109
THE CALL OF THE GREEN 111
SUMMER ENDING 112
NEAR AUTUMN 114
NOVEMBER 115
THE COMMON WEALTH 117








CHILDHOOD






King Baby


King Baby on his throne
 Sits reigning O, sits reigning O!
 King Baby on his throne
 Sits 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 throne
 Sits reigning O, sits reigning O!
 King Baby on his throne
 Sits reigning all alone.





A Blessing for the BlessedToC


When the sun has left the hill-top,
 And the daisy-fringe is furled,
 When the birds from wood and meadow
 In their hidden nests are curled,
 Then I think of all the babies
 That are sleeping in the world....
There are babies in the high lands
 And babies in the low,
 There are pale ones wrapped in furry skins
 On 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 garret
 With 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 beggars
 Of 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 weep
 In the silence of the night,
 When Life has touched with many hues
 Your souls now clear and white:
God save you, little children!
[7] And make your eyes to see
 His finger pointing in the dark
 Whatever you may be,
 Till one and all, through Life and Death,
 Pass to Eternity....





To Raoul BouchardToC


Dear were your kisses, baby boy,
 Your weight upon my arm:
 Gay were your tuneful cries of joy
 As I danced you round the farm:
 And sweet your softness when we lay
 Laughing 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 men
 Shall we two be as we were then.
Your feet have touched the ground, my bird,
[9] And now your wondering eyes
 Will gaze no more as if they heard
 A seraph in the skies:
 A little boy, with leap and shout
 You'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 spring
 Still feel our babe return
 In hallowed moments, such as shine
 When thought or deed makes man divine.





To-day and To-morrowToC


Little hands—what will you grasp
 When you leave this nest, O?
 Little arms—what will you clasp
 Against 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 burn
 Will 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....





The Nesting HourToC


Robin-friend has gone to bed,
 Little wing to hide his head—
 Mother's bird must slumber too
 Just as baby Robins do—
 When the stars begin to rise,
 Birds and babies close their eyes.





The Little SisterToC


Bath-time:

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.

Bed-time:

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....





A Twilight SongToC


Baby moon, 'tis time for bed,
 Owlet leaves his nest now;
 Hide your little horned head
 In the twilight west now;
 When you're old and round and bright,
 You shall stay and shine all night.
Baby girl is going too
 In 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.





A Wintry LullabyToC


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.





The Warm CradleToC


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.





The Drooping FlowerToC


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.





Mothers in the GardenToC


I

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.

II

The thrushes' nest has fallen
 From the ivy on the wall:
 The dear blue eggs are broken,
 All broken by the fall.
But we heard a song at sundown
 That said: O tears are vain!—
 And babe and I ceased grieving:
 We think they will build again.





The Gravel PathToC


Tiny mustn't frown
 When 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!





The New PelisseToC


Baby's got a new pelisse,
 Very soft and very neat—
 Like a lammy in her fleece
 She'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?





SolaceToC


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.