IS it the sunshine on my eyes
Such slumber throws,
Here as I sit, too tired to rise,
They to unclose:
Here as I sit with work undone,
In the wind and sun?
Is it the sunshine makes me weep,
My little ones,
Makes me silently pray for sleep,
While the day runs
From morn to noon and noon to night,
And the quiet star-light?
Ah sun and wind, so strong and good,
That lap me round
With all the sweetness of the wood,
From tree and ground;
You make no cheeks with sorrow wet,
No sad eyes set.
I weep for one short hour to sing,
In all the day,
The happy fancies I would bring
The children's play;
To give the gifts they ask of me,
Which should be so free.
My hand to take when sights are new,
And strange thoughts grow,
My heart to lean on, with the few
Child-dreams I know;
My loving arms throughout the years
For their smiles and tears.
And ever I go out and in
More wearily,
With shrunken life so pale and thin,
And drearily
I murmur that I must not stay,
For their grief or play.
I must not stay, the hours are fleet,
And much to do,
And much to earn for daily meat,
The days all through,
To keep the little hard won nest
For the children's rest.
Ah lady with the folded hands,
You drive in state,
So close to where my baby stands
Most desolate,
With folded hands you pass, each day,
And you look away!