Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE MOORLAND CHILD, by THOMAS WESTWOOD Poet's Biography First Line: Upon the bleak and barren moor Last Line: "and god's exceeding pity!" Subject(s): Children; Childhood | ||||||||
UPON the bleak and barren moor I met a wandering child; Her cheeks were pale, her hair hung lank, Her sunken eyes gleamed wild. "And have you no kind mother, child?" I asked, with softened tone. "My mother went away lang syne, And left me here alone. "'Twas in the winter weather, black, The night lay on the moor; The angry winds went howling by Our creaking cottage door. "My mother lay upon her bed, She shook and shivered sore; She clasped me in her trembling arms, She kissed me o'er and o'er. "I knelt beside her on the ground, I wailed in bitter sorrow; The wind without upon the moor My wailing seemed to borrow. "My mother strove to soothe my grief; But while she spoke, alas! Across her sunken face I saw A sudden shadow pass. "And she fell back, so weak and wan, -- Oh! Sir, I never heard Her voice again, or caught the sound Of one fond, farewell word! "The black winds blew -- my eyes were dry; I hushed my bitter moan, But I knew that she was gone away, And I was left alone. "The black winds blew -- the heavy hail On hill and holt was driven; But she went up the golden stair, And through the gate of heaven. "They bore her to the churchyard grave; The little daisies love it; But I never sit the mound beside, Nor shed a tear above it. "My mother is not there; in dreams, When winter woods are hoary, I see her on the golden stair, Beside the gate of glory. "Her eyes are calm, her forehead shines, Amid the heavenly splendor; On earth her face was kind, but ne'er Wore smiles so sweet and tender. "And, Sir, one night, not long ago, -- December storms were beating, -- I heard her voice, so fond and dear, Float down, my name repeating. "The fir-trees rocked upon the hill, And blast to blast was calling -- She said, 'The earth is dark and drear; Come home, come home, my darling!' "The black winds blew -- the heavy hail On hill and holt was driven -- She said, 'Come up the golden stair, And through the gate of heaven!' "And soon, oh soon!" -- but here speech Broke off; a sudden lightness Passed o'er the child's pale cheek and brow, As with a sunbeam's brightness, -- And she went wandering o'er the moor, Low crooning some wild ditty: -- "God's calm," I said, "be on her shed, And God's exceeding pity!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE THREE CHILDREN by JOSEPHINE JACOBSEN CHILDREN SELECTING BOOKS IN A LIBRARY by RANDALL JARRELL COME TO THE STONE ... by RANDALL JARRELL THE LOST WORLD by RANDALL JARRELL A SICK CHILD by RANDALL JARRELL CONTINENT'S END by ROBINSON JEFFERS ON THE DEATH OF FRIENDS IN CHILDHOOD by DONALD JUSTICE THE POET AT SEVEN by DONALD JUSTICE LITTLE BELL by THOMAS WESTWOOD |
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