EMPTY

by: Edgar Fawcett (1847-1904)

OUR cosey crib is in the corner yet;

I sit and watch it, just as day is dead.

You cannot press again, my vanished pet,

Its pillow with your drowsy golden head.

 

You cannot reach plump arms to get my kiss,

Or dart about with rosy, naked feet,

Babbling soft syllables of that and this,

A tiny night-gowned fairy, blithe and sweet.

 

Once and for all you have lain down to rest,

Not to rise up because of birds or beams,--

Once and for all, with white flowers on your breast,

To slumber coldly and to dream no dreams.

 

Empty the home where, frolicsome and fair,

Your precious presence made so bright a part;

Empty your little crib, your clothes, your chair,

But emptiest of all your mother’s heart!

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