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A Reed by the River/The Mother's Song

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4680626A Reed by the River — The Mother's SongVirginia Woodward Cloud
THE MOTHER'S SONG
"Two women shall be grinding at the mill; the one shall be taken and the other left."

All day and all day as I sit at my measureless turning,
      They come and they go,—
The little ones down on the rocks,—and the sunlight is burning
      On vineyards below;
All day and all day, as I sit at my wheel and am ceaselessly grinding
      The almond boughs blow.

When she was here—O my first-born!—here, grinding and singing,
      My hand against hers,
What did I reck of the wind where the aloe is swinging
      And the cypress vine stirs?
What of a bird to its little ones hastening, crying and flying
      Through the dark of the firs?

When she was here—O my beautiful'—here by me grinding,
      I saw not the glow
Of the grape; for the bloom of her face that the sunlight was finding,
      And the pomegranate blow
Of her mouth, and the joy of her eyes, and her voice like a dove to me singing
      Made my garden agrow.

Was it I? Was it I for whom Death same seeking and calling
      When he found her so fair?
At the wheel, at the wheel, from dawn till the dew shall be falling
      I will wait for him there.
Death! (I shall cry) I am old, but yon shadow of plums that are purpling
      Was the hue of her hair.

Death! (I shall cry) in the sound of the mill ever turning
      Till dark brings release,
Till the sun on the vineyards below me to crimson is burning
      There is measure of peace,
For all day and all day, with the wheel, are her eyes to mine turning,
But Death! (I shall call) take me hence ere the daylight its shadow is spurning
Hence ere the night-time can wrap me around with my tears and my yearning,—
      When the grinding shall cease!