DEAR little hand that clasps my own, Embrowned with toil and seamed, with strife; Pink little fingers not yet grown To the poor strength of after-life, -- Dear little hand! Dear little eyes which smile on mine With the first peep of morning light; Now April-wet with tears, or fine With dews of pity, or laughing bright. Dear little eyes! Dear little voice, whose broken speech All eloquent utterance can transcend; Sweet childish wisdom strong to reach A holier deep than love or friend: Dear little voice! Dear little life! my care to keep From every spot and stain of sin; Sweet soul foredoomed, for joy or pain, To struggle and -- which? to fail or win? Dread mystical life! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ABANDONED RANCH, BIG BEND by HAYDEN CARRUTH CONTRA MORTEM: THE MOON by HAYDEN CARRUTH EVENING IN A SUGAR ORCHARD by ROBERT FROST SYNOPSIS OF A FAILED POEM by JAMES GALVIN RETURN (1) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE GIFT TO SING by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON |