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Poem by Eleanor Farjeon


A Childs Fear


Come to your poor old Mother, she said
Smiling, and gathered to her breast
With her good hands her babys head;
But the childs eyes looked out oppressed.
Not old--not_ old--it isnt true!
Everyone may be old but you.

Old?--Old, you see, is much too near
The half-imagined thing that takes
Our Mothers where they do not hear
Even when their baby wakes
And cries for comfort in the gloom--
Babies to cry, and Mothers not come!

Within the safe arms round her curled,
Oh, she half sobbed, I wish youd be
The youngest person in the world--
How old are you? not old? begged she,
And caught a little panting breath,
Then lay quite still and thought of death.



Eleanor Farjeon


Eleanor Farjeon's other poems:
  1. Sonnets. 1. Man Cannot Be a Sophist to His Heart
  2. Sonnets. 9. Love Needs not Two the Render It Complete
  3. Sonnets. 10. What is this anguish then that always stands
  4. Two Choruses from Merlin in Broceliande
  5. Wild Hyacinth


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