Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
Maternity
After the months of torpor,
Weakness and ache and strain,
After this day's deep drowning
In stormy seas of pain—
To feel your hand, my baby,
Upon my bosom lain!
My little one, my baby,
What woes your touches quell!
It is the Christ-child coming
To save a soul from hell.
Out in the happy gardens
You bring me now to dwell.
My baby—O beloved,
Mine only you shall be,
Even as the soul our Lord's is,
Who died upon the tree.
Have I not won you, dearest,
By pain, as he won me?
So sweet, so soft, so little,
Such a wee helpless flower !
How may I shield you, dear one,
From the world's ruthless power,
And hold you close and warm here,
As now in your first hour?
poem
by
Harriet Monroe
solid border
dashed border
dotted border
double border
groove border
ridge border
inset border
outset border
no border
blue
green
red
purple
cyan
gold
silver
black