A Mother's Love.

A LITTLE in the doorway sitting,
The mother plied her busy knitting;
And her cheek so softly smiled,
You might be sure, although her gaze
Was on the meshes of the lace,
Yet her thoughts were with her child.
But when the boy had heard her voice,
As o'er her work she did rejoice,
His became silent altogether;
And slyly creeping by the wall,
He seized a single plume, let fall
By some wild bird of longest feather;
And, all a-tremble with his freak,
He touched her lightly on the cheek.
O, what a loveliness her eyes
Gather in that one moment's space,
While peeping round the post she Spurs
Her darling's laughing face!
O, mother's love is glorifying,
On the cheek like sunset lying;
In the eyes a moistened light,
Softer than the moon at night!

Courtesy: The Library of World Poetry
Edited by
William Cullen Bryant