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THE THIRD BIRTHDAY

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Three candles had her cake, Which now are burnt away; We wreathed it for her sake With currant-leaves and bay And the last graces Of Michaelmas Daisies Pluckt on a misty day.

Curled (as she cut her cake) In mine her fingers lay; Purple the petals brake, Bruised was the scented bay; Like a yellow moth On the white white cloth One currant-leaf flew away.

Three candles lit her state; Dimmed is their golden reign— Leaves on an empty plate, Petals and tallow-stain; Nor will she Nor the candles three Ever be three again.

ONE-EYED JOCKO

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The Baby slumbers through the night With One-eyed Jocko close to her, She clasps his fluffy limbs so tight Beside her cheek, her breathings stir His agèd fur.

When Mother, with the shaded light Held from the sleepy pillow, stays To smooth the counterpane, this sight Of Friendship’s sweet nocturnal ways Arrests her gaze.

Yet in the nursery by day Jocko doth all neglected lie Prone on the hearth-rug, while away The Baby stalks, unheeded by His vacant eye.

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