Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
Cradle Song
By Josephine Preston Peabody
When at last a little boy’s
Cheek lies heavy as a rose,
And his eyelids close?
This sweet hand all heedfully
I’ll undo, for thee alone,
From his mother’s own.
With the burning stars of heaven
He shall gladden with the sweet
Hasting of his feet—
Leaping, as from pool to pool;
From a little laughing boy
Splashing rainbow joy!
How to keep his hovering hand—
Never shut, as in a bond,
From the bright beyond?
Tightly as a clinging rose,
Clasp it only so—aright,
Lest his heart take fright.
The dusk is hung with blue.)
When at last a little boy’s
Heart, a shut-in murmuring bee,
Turns him into thee?
To take his hand from Gabriel,
So his radiant cup of dream
May not spill a gleam?
Telling o’er thy breastplate all
Colors, in his bubbling speech,
With his hand to each.
Sapphire is the blue;
Pearl and beryl, they are called,
Chrysoprase and emerald,
Sard and amethyst.
Numbered so, and kissed.)
For thy sharp, subduing sword!
Yea, Lord Michael, make no doubt
He will find it out:
His eyes will look at you.
Lead him to that leafy place
Where Our Lady sits awake,
For all mothers’ sake.
He shall mind her of her Son,
Once so folded from all harms,
In her shrining arms.
Dormi, dormi, tu.)
Softly—Gabriel …
When the first faint red shall come,
Bid the Day-star lead him home—
For the bright world’s sake—
To my heart, awake.