Poems (Henley)/When you wake in your crib

by William Ernest Henley

XVIII I. M. MARGARET EMMA HENLEY (1888-1894)

When you wake in your crib,You, an inch of experience—Vaulted aboutWith the wonder of darkness;Wailing and strivingTo reach from your feeblenessSomething you feelWill be good to and cherish you,Something you knowAnd can rest upon blindly:O, then a hand(Your mother's, your mother's!)By the fall of its fingersAll knowledge, all power to you,Out of the dreary,Discouraging strangenessesComes to and masters you, Takes you, and lovinglyWoos you and soothes youBack, as you cling to it,Back to some comfortingCorner of sleep.

So you wake in your bed,Having lived, having loved;But the shadows are there,And the world and its kingdomsIncredibly faded;And you grope through the TerrorAbove you and underFor the light, for the warmth,The assurance of life;But the blasts are ice-born,And your heart is nigh burstWith the weight of the gloomAnd the stress of your strangledAnd desperate endeavour:Sudden a hand—Mother, O Mother!—God at His best to you,Out of the roaring,Impossible silences, Falls on and urges you,Mightily, tenderly,Forth, as you clutch at it,Forth to the infinitePeace of the Grave.

October 1891