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Tired at length of crying,
Laughing, cooing, sighing,
The baby lies so qui’t and still,
Scarce breathing in his sleep;
The mother watches, half-inclined
To hide her face and weep.
From The Poems of Alexander Lawrence Posey (Crane & Co., 1910). This poem is in the public domain.
A winged bit of Indian sky
Strayed hither from its home on high.
Far, far, far are my silver waters drawn;
The hills embrace me loth to let me go;
The maidens think me fair to look upon,
And trees lean over glad to hear me flow.
Thro’ field and valley, green because of me,
I wander, wander to the distant sea.
I picked up shells with ruby lips
That spoke in whispers of the sea,
Upon a time, and watched the ships,
On white wings, sail away to sea.
The ships I saw go out that day
Live misty—dim in memory;
But still I hear, from far away,
The blue waves breaking ceaselessly.