Classic and Contemporary Poetry
ROADSIDE POEMS: THE WAKEFUL SLEEPER, by GEORGE MACDONALD Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: When things are holding wonted pace Last Line: The child is with the father. Subject(s): Children; Dreams; God; Mothers; Sleep; Childhood; Nightmares | ||||||||
WHEN things are holding wonted pace In wonted paths, without a trace Or hint of neighbouring wonder, Sometimes, from other realms, a tone, A scent, a vision, swift, alone, Breaks common life asunder. Howe'er it comes, whate'er its door, It makes you ponder something more Unseen with seen things linking: To neighbours met one festive night, Was given a quaint and lovely sight, That set some of them thinking. They stand, in music's fetters bound By a clear brook of warbled sound, A canzonet of Haydn, When the door slowly comes ajar A little furtherjust as far As shows a tiny maiden. Softly she enters, her pink toes Daintily peeping, as she goes, Her long nightgown from under. The varied mien, the questioning look Were worth a picture; but she took No notice of their wonder. They made a path, and she went through; She had her little chair in view Close by the chimney-corner; She turned, sat down before them all, Stately as princess at a ball, And silent as a mourner. Then looking closer yet, they spy What mazedness hid from every eye As ghost-like she came creeping: They see that though sweet little Rose Her settled way unerring goes, Plainly the child is sleeping. "Play on, sing on," the mother said; "Oft music draws her from her bed." Dumb Echo, she sat listening; Over her face the sweet concent Like winds o'er placid waters went, Her cheeks like eyes were glistening. Her hands tight-clasped her bent knees hold Like long grass drooping on the wold Her sightless head is bending; She sits all ears, and drinks her fill, Then rising goes, sedate and still, On silent white feet wending. Surely, while she was listening so, Glad thoughts in her went to and fro Preparing her 'gainst sorrow, And ripening faith for that sure day When earnest first looks out of play, And thought out of to-morrow. She will not know from what fair skies Troop hopes to front anxieties In what far fields they gather, Until she knows that even in sleep, Yea, in the dark of trouble deep, The child is with the Father. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VARIATIONS: 14 by CONRAD AIKEN VARIATIONS: 18 by CONRAD AIKEN LIVE IT THROUGH by DAVID IGNATOW A DREAM OF GAMES by JOSEPHINE JACOBSEN THE DREAM OF WAKING by RANDALL JARRELL APOLOGY FOR BAD DREAMS by ROBINSON JEFFERS GIVE YOUR WISH LIGHT by ROBINSON JEFFERS LOST AND FOUND by GEORGE MACDONALD THAT HOLY THING by GEORGE MACDONALD THE BABY, FR. AT THE BACK OF THE NORTH WIND by GEORGE MACDONALD |
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