A Cry in the World.
95
Woman, king of the world is the babe you hush with sobbing,
King of all that is living in air or sea, or on land.
Therefore why do you kiss with lips that are dumb with sorrow?
Your tear-drops falling cold have chilled the little hand.
This is the soul’s proud right, the earth given into his keeping;
And all that lives thereon must come to his feet a slave.
Mother, why do you flee with haggard eyes in the morning?
To answer with white face hid in the grass of a baby’s grave.
