Talk of the Heart — A Waif

Behold, winter....
has flung wide its black wings in space,
flapping in a frenzy,
and shaken loose its disheveled hair across the heavens,
wailing and croaking.
It spreads terror in the little one,
a neglected heap in rags,
holding in his panting breath
and the flutter of his frightened lashes...
Oh, how he longs for a bosom to gather in his trembling body,
and for an arm to circle his waist
and give back to his soul its safety
... and to his mouth its moisture!

How sweet his mother's breast, a pillow for his head—
what perfume, her breathing,
and her voice, what melody!!
How sweet!!

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Lost between deaf walls,
the echo of his hollow wishes..
His eye is on the little window... and the horrors beyond it..
Can nature hold all this tyranny and folly,
and still, after that, be his mother?