Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, SONG OF CRADLE-MAKING, by CONSTANCE LINDSAY SKINNER


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

SONG OF CRADLE-MAKING, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Thou hast stirred!
Last Line: Through thy father's doorway!
Subject(s): Cradles; Pregnancy


THOU hast stirred!
When I lifted thy little cradle,
The little cradle I am making for thee,
I felt thee!
The face of the beach smiled,
I heard the pine-trees singing:
In the White Sea the Dawn-Eagle dipped his wing.
O, never have I seen so much light through thy father's doorway!

(Wast thou pleased with thy little cradle?)

Last night I said: "When the child comes—
If it is a Son—
I will trim his cradle with shells:
And proudly I will bear him in his rich cradle
Past the doors of barren women;
And all shall see my Little Chief in his rich cradle!"

That was last night;
Last night thou hadst not stirred!

O I know not if thou be a son—
Strong Chief, Great Fisher, Law-of Woman,
As thy father is;
Or only Sorrow-Woman, Patient Serving Hands,
Like thy mother.
I only know I love thee,
Thou Little One under my heart!
For thou didst move; and every part of me trembled.

I will trim thy cradle with many shells, and with cedar-fringes;
Thou shalt have goose-feathers on thy blanket!
I will bear thee in my hands along the beach,
Singing as the sea sings,
Because the little mouths of sand are ever at her breast.
O Mother-face of the Sea, how thou dost smile—
And I have wondered at thy smiling!

Aiihi! Thy Little feet—
I felt them press me!
Lightly, so lightly I hear them coming:
Like little brown leaves running over the earth—
Little leaves, wind-hastened on the sudden autumn trails!
Earth loves the little running feet of leaves.
—(Thy little brown feet!)

O K'antsamiq'ala Soé, Our Praised One,
Let there be no more barren women!
May thou bring no tears, my child
When I bear thee, in thy rich cradle,
By the chanting sea-paths where the women labor.

Thou hast stirred!
Oh! haste, haste, little feet—
Little brown feet lightly running
Down the trail of the hundred days!

The wind is white with rocking bird-cradles;
Day is in the eyes of the Sea.
Ah! never have I seen so much light
Through thy father's doorway!





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