[W.W.]
A little maid, of summers four -
Did you compute her years, -
And yet how infinitely more
To me her age appears:
I mark the sweet child's serious air,
At her unplayful play, -
The tiny doll she mothers there
And lulls to sleep away,
Grows - 'neath the grave similitude -
An infant real, to me,
And she a saint of motherhood
In hale maturity.
So, pausing in my lonely round,
And all unseen of her,
I stand uncovered - her profound
And abject worshipper.
Song - The Dolly's Mother
James Whitcomb Riley
(1)
Poem topics: away, child, lonely, sleep, doll, sweet, real, play, stand, grave, maturity, saint, I love you, I miss you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
Submit Spanish Translation
Submit German Translation
Submit French Translation
Write your comment about Song - The Dolly's Mother poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Best Poems of James Whitcomb Riley