Page:The Bengali Book of English Verse.djvu/144

112 My one bliss, and would you lonely Leave my heart, Thus from mother's lap to part? O what is it, charm of charms, Seek your lips incarnadine, Stretching forth your little arms, With that cry divine? Enchantment! art thou not only Mine?

Fret not so, nor fear my raiment: Heed not thou! Softly though he flatters now. Woods nor whispers thinks she sweet, Mother, to thy vague murmurs: Men, the world, the roaring street, Father, he prefers. Hers you are 'gainst every claimant, Hers!

Leave him! Not a kiss deserves he Lonely here To forsake us, baby dear. Toils and troubles all the week They possess him, toils like tares For the rose of baby's cheek Not a thought he cares. 'Tis for them his heart preserves he, Theirs!

Laughing, see, has baby known him, And small hands Stretching out, his beard demands. O his flattery well I know, Sweet he comes, as April showers;