Poems (Van Rensselaer)/The Child's Dream
THE CHILD'S DREAM
Last night I was a child that just had learned to die, A child like me, but newly born Into a beautiful morn Of starry sky. I saw the morning light,Yet there were stars, silver and golden, softly bright.
The stars were there, and music—for the shapes, white-clad, Of angels, thousands, stood to sing, All white of robe and wing. A harp they had, A viol, or a lute;All sang but one; she smiled and held her harpstrings mute.
My heart was full of tears; I laughed when I knew why: The angel of the whitest wing, She who cared not to sing, Leaned from the sky And smiled, and I could seeMy mother's lovely eyes; my mother smiled at me.
In this our world I never saw my mother's face; She died; she died as I was born. But in that starry morn I found the place Where she abides, and knewThey were her eyes, and wept, yet laughed and kissed her too.