The Witch-Maid, and Other Verses/Sorrow

by Dorothea Mackellar

SORROW

My Sorrow, O my Sorrow, when first you came to rest
Crouched huddling on my hearthstone, I held you to
    my breast
And cuddled and caressed you, and rocked you o'er
    and o'er—
My Sorrow like a baby that creeps upon the floor!

I showed you to my neighbours, I made you rhymes to sing,
For I was proud to own you, the delicate small thing;
And so I nursed you always, till you are grown to-day,
My Sorrow, like a tiger tense-crouching for his prey.

Yea, silently and swiftly, my Sorrow, you have grown
Till you are waxed so dreadful I dare not be alone—
Alone I dare not face you, lest I be slain outright—
I pray you, monster Sorrow, to sheathe your claws
    to-night!