Wilton Agnew Barrett

WHAT is he struggling to say,

With his red, wrinkled face

And clawing hands?

He has just come out of the darkness,

Its silence is still upon him,

And already he wants to talk about life!

Hush!—

Perhaps he has some great secret of birth and death,

Learned back there in the black womb,

Which he feels life stealing;

And he wants to tell it to us

And cannot.

He is more terrible than funny.

Gallop, gallop on my knee—

What a tireless rider!

I didn’t think of your doing this

When, in the stillness of night,

We set you stirring.

Now I suppose you must keep on!

If you follow your daddy

You will have a merry and sad time,

Riding a cock-horse

To Banbury Cross.

III

Arise, child, in the morning!

Go down upon the shining beach,

Find the glinting shells

And the white drops of moonstone.

Gather and toss them away,

Leaping.

Under the towering sky

Be wild as you are white!

Your limbs are light and can dance.

Do you know how far they can dance?

Dance, child, and see.