Page:Field Poems of Childhood.djvu/103

 They shook my beauteous almond-tree, Beating its glorious bloom to death— They strewed it round upon the ground, And mocked its fragrant dying breath.

I was a mother, and I weep; I seek the rose where nestleth none— No more is heard the singing bird— I have no little golden son!

So fall the shadows over me, The blighted garden, lonely nest, Reach down in love, O God above! And fold my darling to thy breast.