Edith Matilda Thomas (Эдит Матильда Томас)

The Mother Who Died Too

She was so little—little in her grave,
     The wide earth all around so hard and cold—
She was so little! therefore did I crave
     My arms might still her tender form enfold.
She was so little, and her cry so weak
     When she among the heavenly children came—
She was so little—I alone might speak
     For her who knew no word nor her own name.

1. The Procession of the Kings
2. A Water Lily
3. The Little Girl from Town
4. The Day-Dreamer
5. The Birds on the Christmas Sheaf

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1757

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