I reckon the finest sight of all That a man can see in this world of ours Ain't the works of art on the gallery wall, Or the red an' white o' the fust spring flowers, Or a hoard o' gold from the yellow mines; But the' sight that'll make ye want t' yell Is t' catch a glimpse o' the fust pink signs In yer baby's cheek, that she's gittin' well. When ye see the pink jes' a-creepin' back T' the pale, drawn cheek, an' ye note a smile, Then th' cords o' yer heart that were tight, grow slack An' ye jump fer joy every little while, An' ye tiptoe back to her little bed As though ye doubted yer eyes, or were Afraid it was fever come back instead, An' ye found that th' pink still blossomed there. Ye've watched fer that smile an' that bit o' bloom With a heavy heart fer weeks an' weeks; An' a castle o' joy becomes that room When ye glimpse th' pink in yer baby's cheeks. An' out o' yer breast flies a weight o' care, An' ye're lifted up by some magic spell, An' yer heart jes' naturally beats a prayer O' joy to the Lord 'cause she's gittin' well. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...POETASTER: SONG (4) by BEN JONSON LAUS VENERIS (A PICTURE BY BURNE-JONES) by LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 54 by ALFRED TENNYSON IN THE WHITE LAND by KONSTANTIN DMITRIYEVICH BALMONT THE BRIGHT ASSASSIN by WILLIAM ROSE BENET ECHOES OF SPRING: 7 by MATHILDE BLIND |