Rejoice in my bliss, ye who love me!
Rejoice in the crown of my joy;
I am proud with a pride that is holy,
I’m proud of my glorious Boy.
My baby is sturdy & ruddy;
So much of him; oh, what a charm
To hold him, & feel as I hold him
Such a weight of my wealth on my arm!
Oh, you should have seen him, my Baby,
Before his third moon had grown old
He knew where my mouth & my eyes were,
As bees know the lily cup’s gold.
And if I looked tenderly on him,
With never a word it may be,
How sweetly his little mouth offered
The roundest of kisses for me!
His hair has the hue of the Autumn
When turning from ruddy to pale,
That glorious bonnie tawny
Where feeling & vigor prevail.
It wans in half-curl on his shoulders
Whose whiteness awhile it may deck
He laughs from his eyes when I lift it
To hide a red kiss in his neck.
O, his big plumpy arms how they hold me,
I am breathless with bliss, & the hug;
I clasp him & bind him as tightly,
That armful of sweetness I hug.
The eyes of my baby are tender,
And then will I say, they are blue;
But anon they are grey & searching,
And are looking me through & through!
He speaks in the language of silence;
I know what he says, as I know
What is meant by the smell of the lily,
And the roses in affable glow;
He speaks in a gurgle & warble,
His meaning is clear, with no word,
As the song of the brook & the blackbird,
Or rustle of rain on the sword.
I know that my Baby’s a Poet,
He croons such a rhythmical lay,
Flings a kiss to the dawn, like a loner,
While song is the soul of his play.
He sees a mysterious semblance
In all that is shining & sweet,
To something he knew in his Eden,
Or longs for, expectant to meet.
Let my love be his Eden, his Heaven,
O Father, who gave me the prise!
Let hope & remembrance he blended
In bliss on the heart where he lies!
Rejoice, & rejoice, ye who love me,
Rejoice in my tremulous joy;
I am proud of my armful of sweetness,
I’m proud of my glorious Boy!
Baby-Boy