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Every wild she-bird has nest and mate in the warm April weather, But a captive woman, made for love -- no mate, no nest has she. In the spring of young desire, young men and maids are wed together, And the happy mothers flaunt their bliss for all the world to see: Nature's sacramental feast for these -- an empty board for me.
I, a young maid once, an old maid now, deposed, despised, forgotten -- I, like them have thrilled with passion and have dreamed of nuptial rest, Of the trembling life within me of my children unbegotten, Of a breathing new-born body to my yearning bosom prest, Of the rapture of a little soft mouth drinking at my breast.
Time, that heals so many sorrows, keeps mine ever freshly aching; Though my face is growing furrowed and my brown hair turning white, Still I mourn my irremediable loss, asleep or waking -- Still I hear my son's voice calling "mother" in the dead of night, And am haunted by my girl's eyes that will never see the light.
O my children that I might have had! my children, lost for ever! O the goodly years that might have been -- now desolate and bare! O malignant God or Fate, what have I done that I should never Take my birthright like the others, take the crown that women wear, And possess the common heritage to which all flesh is heir?
Ada Cambridge
Read poems about / on: children, april, weather, loss, women, passion, girl, son, fate, woman, nature, spring, together, happy, hair, mother, lost, light, god, world
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