Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE MOTHER, by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE MOTHER, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: You are not going, surely
Last Line: Annie. Yes, he sleeps sound.


Persons:

ROSE ALLEN, a young widow.
HER CHILD.
ANNIE FEATHERSTONE, Rose Allen's sister.

Scene: A lonely moorland cottage, in the early morning.
The child sleeps on the bed. ANNIE FEATHERSTONE is
tending the fire when ROSE, dressed as for a holiday,
enters from the other room.

ANNIE. You are not going, surely,
After all!
ROSE. Why not?
The boy is better.
ANNIE. Better, Rose?
ROSE. Well, he's no worse to-day than yesterday.
ANNIE. I think he's worse.
ROSE. You think?
You always think the worst of everything.
Don't you remember...
ANNIE. I remember much.
ROSE. Then you must know
How often you've cried "wolf!"
Already, Annie.
Had you but children of your own,
You'd know how little makes them sick,
How quickly they recover;
And would not fret yourself
At every baby ailment,
Nor see a tragedy
In every prick or scratch.
He sleeps,
And little ails a child when he can sleep.
ANNIE. But how he tosses!
It's no healthy slumber.
His hands are hot and restless,
His brow's afire --
Come, feel it.
ROSE. Why, that's nothing, Annie.
It's the old story --
Spinster's children...
You know the rest.
ANNIE. I know the rest.
ROSE. Ah, well!
But you should know a mother
Has something else to do
Than break her heart, whenever
A fractious baby pukes and pules,
Or sit and weep her eyes out
At every scratch and tumble.
How should we get through life,
If we paid heed
To every whine and whimper?
But even you
Will learn in time, perhaps,
And...
ANNIE. Even I!
ROSE. Yes, even you.
But don't be angry with me,
And think that I don't love my child.
You know how much I love him,
Though he's so troublesome;
And how I've worked
My fingers to the bone
To keep him, since his father died.
My life is hard enough, God knows!
And must I miss the little fun life offers?
I get so little pleasure;
And Morton Fair comes only once a year.
But you are hard,
And you'd deny me this.
Ah, well!
Then I must stay.
ANNIE. I would deny you nothing, child.
ROSE. You call me "child!"
Then you are angry.
But I'll not quarrel with you.
Child!
Yes, I'm young --
I wedded young --
But you are old and wise,
And never cared for fairings.
There's but twelve months betwixt us,
And yet, what years and years!
A widow and a mother, too,
I am not half as old.
I wonder if I'll ever be...
ANNIE. Nay you will never be as old as I...
ROSE. Never?
How can you know?
Do you foretell my death?
Shall I not live to see the year out?
ANNIE. Though you should live to see
A hundred years out,
You will still be young.
ROSE. Ah, now I understand you.
You frightened me at first
With your long face and solemn words.
You mean my heart is young,
And think I'm thoughtless.
Yet, a girl
Can hardly go through all that I've gone through,
And still be thoughtless.
Annie, I know life
As you have never known it.

[The clock strikes.]
Is that five?
But I must go.
If I'm to catch the train.
It's full three hours' fast walking.
I've stood too long already,
Chattering.
Well, lass, good-bye.
ANNIE. You have not kissed the boy "good-bye."
ROSE. He sleeps so soundly,
I'll not waken him.
Now, lass, you see
That I'm the careful mother after all,
And I deny myself for him.
How sweet he sleeps!
I'll bring him home a fairing
Which he will like far better
Than all your precious kisses.
And now you're angry with me,
Though I meant nothing, Annie.
You must not worry so.
You know I love him,
And would bide at home,
Did I not know I leave him
In safe hands.
Still, if you mind...
ANNIE. I do not mind.
ROSE. Good-bye, then.
I could not leave the boy in better hands.

[Goes out.]

ANNIE. And she has gone through all,
And yet,
Knows naught!
Life has not touched her,
Though a man has spent
His whole heart's love on her;
And she has stood
Beside her husband's deathbed;
And borne his child within her womb,
Yet, she's unchanged,
And still a child,
As ignorant of life as her poor babe.
While I, whom life denied
All, save the yearning,
I am old at heart.
Life fed her to the full,
While I went hungry for the crumbs.
Already I am old and famine-worn,
While she is young and careless.
Passion has brought no tenderness to her;
She never has known love --
Nay, though she drank a strong man's love,
His very life-blood, yet,
She knew not what she drank.
She drained that draught
As though 'twere water,
And soon forgot the cup,
When it was empty,
And broken at her feet.
And now the crystal spring of baby-love
Is spilt in vain for her,
While I am parched,
And thirst for one sweet drop.
Ah, God, have I not thirsted!
And yet the cup
Has ever passed my lips,
Untasted...
Now I never shall drink life.
His love had not been spent, in vain,
On me,
Had life but let him love me,
As I loved.
But he...
He was so happy in his love,
And I -- I loved
To see him happy in his love.
And still my selfish heart
Was often sore
That he could be so happy,
While I...
And yet,
He never knew of my unhappiness,
For Rose was all the world to him;
And I,
But Rose's shadow --
She, ever fresh and fair,
And I, so gloomy;
And he loved the light,
And never knew his star was cold at heart.
Thank God, he did not know --
Not even in the end!
What would not I have given for the right
To stand beside him at the last,
And hold his hand in mine --
To lay that weary head upon my bosom!
I burned with love for him.
And still, denied all else,
Had it been mine
To bring him balm and quiet in the end,
And spend on him a mother's tenderness,
I should have been content ... I think...
And yet,
Had things been otherwise,
Was not my heart
His heart's true mate?
But he...
His child another bore him,
And scarcely knew that 'twas his child --
His child, that should have brought into her breast
The milk of tenderness,
And to her heart, the light of understanding.
His child, and fatherless!
But motherhood to her meant little.
A cold and careless wife,
So is she now a careless mother.
The pangs and labouring
Of travail taught her nothing.
She rose from off her bearing-bed
As easily as she had left
The deathbed of her love.
'Twas I, indeed,
Who bore the pangs of travail
To bring his child to birth --
Ay, even as on me
Fell the whole burden of the husband's death.

[The child wakens and stirs restlessly.]

THE CHILD. Mother!
ANNIE. Yes, son.
He does not know me.
And am not I his mother!
She only bore his body...
THE CHILD. Mother, a drink.
ANNIE. And she...
She is not here!
Drink this, my son.
You are his son ... and mine!
Your young soul was brought forth
Of my great love for him,
The father of your soul.
Have I not mothered it,
And nurtured its young life
With my heart's love,
And fed it on the milk of tenderness?
He sleeps again, our child.
Her eyes he has;
But when he sleeps,
She has no part in him.
Then he is all his father...
And all mine --
All mine, all mine,
My babe, my babe!
He sleeps...
And yet...
I fear...
He lies so still.
O God, and I,
His mother,
Can do naught,
Alone and helpless,
In this wilderness!
Had she not gone...
But I,
What can I do?
I dare not leave him, yet scarce dare to bide.
If there were but a neighbour...
But where could I seek help...
If help there be at all
For him in this world now?
He stirs again.
Nay, I must stay with him,
My babe, my babe!
Don't fear;
I'll not forsake you!
And, in the end,
You shall not lack a mother's hand
Upon your brow,
Nor lack a mother's bosom
On which to lay your head.
THE CHILD. Mother...
A drink...
ANNIE. Your thirst is quenched.
Those lips will never breathe that word again.
Much have I craved of life...
And it is given to me
To close your eyes in death.
My child, my child!
Now you are ours, all ours...
All his ... and mine!

[The day wears slowly through as ANNIE watches by the
dead child. In the late afternoon the door opens, and
ROSE ALLEN enters.]

ROSE. Am I not a good mother?
I've left the Fair half over.
I could not stay,
For something made me anxious.
Your words kept dinning in my ears,
And spoilt the fun;
And so I left quite early;
And yet,
I did not quite forget my boy,
Though I'm so careless, Annie.
I bring a fairing for him --
See!
A jumping...
Does he sleep?
He lies so very still.
ANNIE. Yes, he sleeps sound.





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