To an Orphan Child

A Whimsey

Ah, child, thou art but half thy darling mother's;
     Hers couldst thou wholly be,
My light in thee would outglow all in others;
     She would relive to me.
But niggard Nature's trick of birth
     Bars, lest she overjoy,
Renewal of the loved on earth
     Save with alloy.

The Dame has no regard, alas, my maiden,
     For love and loss like mine -
No sympathy with mind-sight memory-laden;
     Only with fickle eyne.
To her mechanic artistry
     My dreams are all unknown,
And why I wish that thou couldst be
     But One's alone!

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