Classic and Contemporary Poetry
WHICH?, by ANONYMOUS First Line: Which shall it be? Which shall it be? Last Line: "thankful to work for all the seven, / trusting the rest to one in heaven" Variant Title(s): Not One To Spare Subject(s): Home;love | ||||||||
"WHICH shall it be? Which shall it be?" I looked at John -- John looked at me (Dear, patient John, who loves me yet As well as though my locks were jet); And when I found that I must speak, My voice seemed strangely low and weak: "Tell me again what Robert said," And then I, listening, bent my head. "This is his letter: 'I will give A house and land while you shall live, If, in return, from out your seven, One child to me for aye is given.'" I looked at John's old garments worn, I thought of all that John had borne Of poverty and work and care, Which I, though willing, could not share; I thought of seven mouths to feed, Of seven little children's need, And then of this. "Come, John," said I, "We'll choose among them as they lie Asleep;" so, walking hand in hand, Dear John and I surveyed our band. First to the cradle lightly stepped, Where Lilian, the baby, slept, A glory 'gainst the pillow white. Softly the father stooped to lay His rough hand down in a gentle way, When dream or whisper made her stir, And huskily he said, "Not her, not her!" We stopped beside the trundle-bed, And one long ray of lamplight shed Athwart the boyish faces there, In sleep so pitiful and fair; I saw on Jamie's rough, red cheek A tear undried. Ere John could speak, "He's but a baby, too," said l, And kissed him as we hurried by. Pale, patient Robbie's angel face Still in his sleep bore suffering's trace. "No, for a thousand crowns, not him!" He whispered, while our eyes were dim. Poor Dick! bad Dick! our wayward son, Turbulent, reckless, idle one -- Could he be spared? Nay; He who gave, Bid us befriend him to his grave; Only a mother's heart can be Patient enough for such as he; "And so," said John, " I would not dare To send him from our bedside prayer." Then stole we softly up above And knelt by Mary, child of love. "Perhaps for her 't would better be," I said to John. Quite silently He lifted up a curl tbat lay Across her cheek in wilful way, And shook his head: "Nay, love; not thee," The while my heart beat audibly. Only one more, our eldest lad, Trusty and truthful, good and glad -- So like his father. "No, John, no -- I cannot, will not, let him go." And so we wrote, in courteous way, We could not drive one child away; And afterward toil lighter seemed, Thinking of that of which we dreamed, Happy in truth that not one face Was missed from its accustomed place; Thankful to work for all the seven, Trusting the rest to One in heaven. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE INVENTION OF LOVE by MATTHEA HARVEY TWO VIEWS OF BUSON by ROBERT HASS A LOVE FOR FOUR VOICES: HOMAGE TO FRANZ JOSEPH HAYDN by ANTHONY HECHT AN OFFERING FOR PATRICIA by ANTHONY HECHT LATE AFTERNOON: THE ONSLAUGHT OF LOVE by ANTHONY HECHT A SWEETENING ALL AROUND ME AS IT FALLS by JANE HIRSHFIELD TIS A LITTLE JOURNEY by ANONYMOUS |
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