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Title: Poet's Enchanted Life
Author: James Avis Bartley [
More Titles by Bartley]
THE ANGEL-CHILD.
A fairy land of grass and flowers,
And of the greenest trees
A land of singing brooks and springs,
A land of singing breeze.
A land of bright but mellowed hues,
Beneath the western skies,
The lady bore a beauteous child,
In this sweet paradise.
An auburn head--an olive face--
An eye of azure light--
A perfect beauty seemed the child,
To my enchanted sight.
I loved him for his loveliness,
This budding, beauteous child,
The mother's heart within would leap
When e'er the infant smiled,
And when upon her warming breast,
She watched his closing eyes,
His lips would smile, as if he saw
The angels in the skies.
And truth to say, she ofttimes thought,
The angels were near by,
So strange a gleam was on his hair,
So bright his cherub eye.
He was so meek and gentle-souled,
So free from evil stain,
Ah! well I knew, 'twere toil to find
So lovely child again.
It was a antique, white-walled cot,
Beneath the western skies,
This lady dwelt with this sweet child,
In this sweet paradise.
The mother loved her beauteous child;
Oft gazing on his sleep,
The joy that smoothed her matron brow,
Was beautiful and deep.
The summer flower hath hasty growth--
The sweet child grew apace,
And lo! a brighter loveliness,
Was born upon his face.
So fair--so fair--and oh! so dear!
Alas! a mother's love
May be too strong to please her God--
The child went up above.
And now alone the mother was
In all this world so wide,
For ere the child had lisped his name
Her stricken husband died.
Alone in all this world so wide,
Alone the mother was;
If this were true--God wot 'twas false,
Our hearts should sigh alas.
The child--the child--transformed! come down,
On rainbow-colored wings,
Whose flashing, o'er the mother's path,
A mystic glory flings.
He set gay flowers of heavenly pride
Amid this cursed clime--
Ah! brilliant flowers--ah! brighter flowers,
Than bloomed in Eden's prime.
He softly led her on the way,
And sang to her charm'd soul,
A sweet, low strain that men heard not,
And fiends could not control.
At last the mother went with him
To dwell on Heaven's wide plain,
Where father, mother, cherub now,
Sing forth a glorious strain.
[The end]
James Avis Bartley's poem: Poet's Enchanted Life
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