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.

1. Spring on the Alban Hills
2. Summer in England, 1914
3. The Two Questions
4. In Honour of America, 1917
5. The October Redbreast

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