Poems (Odom)/The Little Boy I Lost
THE LITTLE BOY I LOST.
There hangs upon our cottage wall A picture, full of childish grace,Bright golden curls are clinging round And framing in the boyish face.From under lashes long and curled The large, dark eyes look down on me,And through the parted coral lips The tiny, pearly teeth I see.
Upon a scarlet cushion there The little dimpled fingers rest,The velvet jacket parts above The fluted ruffles on the breastI look upon it and my heart By waves of recollection tostIs shaken with the memory of The little boy I long have lost.
A fairy child, so wondrous sweet, That strangers paused to look at him, My lovely boy whose very thought Still makes his mother's eyes grow dim.Once when his little feet had dipped Almost in death's cold, cruel wave,I felt as if my heart would lie A broken thing upon his grave.
He loved me so—my baby son— His little hands would creep to mine,And mingling with my darker hair, His golden curls would glint and shine.Kiss after kiss his rosy lips Against my cheek would often press,And many times his playful hands Left finger-marks upon my dress.
Sweet, precious touches, I would prize And smile upon as mothers will;How gladly I would see again Those little hand-prints on me still.But many years have come and gone, My sunny child has passed away,And vainly I stretch out my arms To clasp him to my heart to-day.
I know I have forever lost The darling boy I loved so well;The wild pain sweeping through my heart, No verse of mine can ever tell.His little golden head will rest Upon his mother's knee no more,The tiny bark whose sails I set Has stranded on a barren shore.
The other little ones who went, Before me to the golden landI hope sometimes to claim again, And feel them clinging to my hand,But this, my first and best beloved, The sweetest joy my heart has known,Has drifted far away from me, Beyond my loving arms has grown.
The rosy lips are wearing now The down of manhood's early dawn;And from the ruddy, velvet cheek The childish dimples long have gone.The timid feet I taught to step Ring out now with a manly tread; The baby fingers slipped from mine, A strong hand clasps my own instead.
The boy I once bent down to kiss Must bend to kiss his mother now;The golden curls no longer cling In clustered glory on his brow.A man among the world of men, My little son, no longer mine;The very life within my heart Is offered on another shrine.
The world has taken from my arms The treasure God himself hath spared;The pure, sweet love I thought all mine It seems, at best, I only shared.The shining curl of golden hair That I have kept so many years—I look upon it sadly now, And dim its beauty with my tears.
The children lying in their graves Asleep beyond the rippling sea;The treasures that I gave to God Seem nearer to me now than he. The busy, rushing, careless world Another to its ranks has won—A man to meet life as a man, But I have lost my little son.
July, 1882.