THE WRECK.
23
And so, when I bore him a girl, when I held it aloft in my joy,
He look'd at it coldly, and said to me 'Pity it isn't a boy.'
The one thing given me, to love and to live for, glanced at in scorn!
The child that I felt I could die for—as if she were basely born!
I had lived a wild-flower life, I was planted now in a tomb;
The daisy will shut to the shadow, I closed my heart to the gloom;
I threw myself all abroad—I would play my part with the young
By the low foot-lights of the world—and I caught the wreath that was flung.
He look'd at it coldly, and said to me 'Pity it isn't a boy.'
The one thing given me, to love and to live for, glanced at in scorn!
The child that I felt I could die for—as if she were basely born!
I had lived a wild-flower life, I was planted now in a tomb;
The daisy will shut to the shadow, I closed my heart to the gloom;
I threw myself all abroad—I would play my part with the young
By the low foot-lights of the world—and I caught the wreath that was flung.
