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Poem by Eleanor Farjeon

A Childs Fear

Come to your poor old Mother, she said
Smiling, and gathered to her breast
With her good hands her babys head;
But the childs eyes looked out oppressed.
Not old--not_ old--it isnt true!
Everyone may be old but you.

Old?--Old, you see, is much too near
The half-imagined thing that takes
Our Mothers where they do not hear
Even when their baby wakes
And cries for comfort in the gloom--
Babies to cry, and Mothers not come!

Within the safe arms round her curled,
Oh, she half sobbed, I wish youd be
The youngest person in the world--
How old are you? not old? begged she,
And caught a little panting breath,
Then lay quite still and thought of death.

Eleanor Farjeon

Eleanor Farjeon's other poems:
  1. When You Say
  2. Sonnets. 11. A few of us who faltered as we fared
  3. Sonnets. 14. Now I have love again and life again
  4. Three Miles to Penn
  5. Revolt

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