poetry 5

THE TOYS

COVENTRY PAT MORE:

My little son, who look'd from thoughtful eyes

And moved and spoke in quiet grown-up wise 

Having my law the seventh time disobey'd

I struck him and dismiss'd

With hard words and kiss'd

His mother who was patient, being dead

Then, fearing lest his grief should hinder sleep

I visited his bed

But found him slumbering deep

With darken'd eyelids and their lashes yet

From his late sobbing wet

And i with moan

Kissing away his tears left others of my own

For on a table drawn beside his head

He had put within his reach 

A box of counters and a red vein'd stone

A piece of glass abraded by the beach

And six or  seven shells 

A bottle with bluebells 

And  two french copper ranged there with

             careful art,

To comfort his sad heart

So when that night i pray'd

To god i wept and said

Ah! when at last we lie with trance breath

Not vexing thee in death

And thou remember of what toys

We made our joys 

How weakly understood

Thy great commanded good 

Then fatherly not less

Then i whom thou hast moulded from the clay

Thou leave thy wrath and say

I will be sorry for their childishness........