Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/Little Shoes and Stockings

Little Shoes and Stockings.

Little shoes and stockings! What a tale ye speak,Of the swollen eyelid, And the tear-wet cheek;Of the nightly vigil, And the daily prayer;Of the buried darling, Present everywhere!

Brightly plaided stockings, Of the finest wool;Rounded feet and dainty, Each a stocking full;Tiny shoes of crimson, Shoes that nevermoreWill awaken echoes From the toy-strewn floor.

Not the wealth of Indies Could your worth eclipse,Priceless little treasures, Pressed to whitened lips;As the mother nurses, From the world apart,Leaning on the arrow, That has pierced her heart.

Head of flaxen ringlets; Eyes of heaven's blue;Parted mouth—a rosebud— Pearls, just peeping through;Soft arms, softly twining Round her neck at eve;—Little shoes and stockings, These the dreams ye weave.

Weave her yet another, Of the world of bliss,—Let the stricken mother Turn away from this;Bid her dream believing Little feet await,Watching for her passing Through the pearly gate.