Since you were so young, child, I shall
Not fear your noon or even-fall,
Nor dread you are taken unawares,
Nor weary Heaven with many prayers.
I shall not wake at night afraid
Of where your darling head is laid,
Nor say: ‘He finds the wind too rough,
Dear God!’ for now the wind’s left off.
I shall have ease though lightnings leap,
Nor hear the thunder in my sleep,
Nor dread the crying of the seas,
Nor any mountain precipice.
God pity her who lies awake
Unquiet for some darling sake!
Soft sleeps my little son to-night,
Where many stars make candlelight!
His sword is laid beside his knees;
God knows my little son hath ease —
And I, his mother, may go sleep
And pray for them who wake and weep.