Alice Meynell

Cradle-Song at Twilight

 Next Poem          

The child not yet is lulled to rest.
Too young a nurse, the slender Night
So laxly holds him to her breast
That throbs with flight.

He plays with her, and will not sleep.
For other playfellows she sighs;
An unmaternal fondness keep
Her alien eyes.

Next Poem 

 Back to
Alice Meynell