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Poem by Alice Meynell


Cradle-Song at Twilight


THE child not yet is lulled to rest.
    Too young a nurse, the slender Night 
So laxly holds him to her breast
    That throbs with flight.

He plays with her, and will not sleep.
    For other playfellows she sighs; 
An unmaternal fondness keep
    Her alien eyes.



Alice Meynell


Alice Meynell's other poems:
  1. A Letter from a Girl to Her Own Old Age
  2. A Poet of One Mood
  3. Builders of Ruins
  4. The Shepherdess
  5. The Fold


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