Page:Tragedies of Euripides (Way 1894) v1.djvu/140

108 O children's roseleaf skin, O balmy breath!

Away, away! Strength faileth me to gaze

On you, but I am overcome of evil.

Now, now, I learn what horrors I intend:

But passion overmastereth sober thought:

And this is cause of direst ills to men.

Full oft ere this my soul hath scaled

Lone heights of thought, steeps,

Or plunged far down the darkling deeps,

Where woman's feebler heart hath failed.

Yet wherefore failed? Should woman find

No inspiration thrill her breast,

Nor welcome ever that sweet guest

Of Song, that uttereth Wisdom's mind?

Alas! not all! Few, few are they,—

Perchance amid a thousand one

Thou shouldest find,—for whom the sun

Of poesy makes an inner day.

Now this I say—calm bliss, that ne'er

Knew love's wild fever of the blood,

The pains, the joys, of motherhood,

Passeth all parents' joy-blent care.

The childless, they that never prove

If sunshine comes, or cloud, to men

With babes, far lie beyond their ken

The toils, the griefs, of parent-love.