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. The October Redbreast
2. A Comparison in a Seaside Field
3. Spring on the Alban Hills
4. The Lover Urges the Better Thrift
5. The Watershed (for R. T.)

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