Page:Poems Sigourney, 1834.pdf/220

Rh

was my idol. Night and day to scan The fine expansion of her form, and mark The unfolding mind like vernal rose-bud start To sudden beauty, was my chief delight. To find her fairy footsteps follow me, Her hand upon my garments, or her lip Long sealed to mine, and in the watch of night The quiet breath of innocence to feel Soft on my cheek, was such a full content Of happiness, as none but mothers know. Her voice was like some tiny harp that yields To the slight fingered breeze, and as it held Brief converse with her doll, or playful soothed The moaning kitten, or with patient care Conned o'er the alphabet—but most of all Its tender cadence in her evening prayer Thrilled on the ear like some ethereal tone Heard in sweet dreams. But now alone I sit, Musing of her, and dew with mournful tears Her little robes, that once with woman's pride I wrought, as if there were a need to deck What God had made so beautiful. I start, Half fancying from her empty crib there comes A restless sound, and breathe the accustomed words "Hush! Hush thee, dearest." Then I bend and weep— As though it were a sin to speak to one Whose home is with the angels.