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TWO Suns of Love make day of human life, Which else with all its pains, and griefs, and deaths, Were utter darkness—one, the Sun of dawn That brightens thro’ the Mother’s tender eyes, And warms the child’s awakening world—and one The later-rising Sun of spousal Love, Which from her household orbit draws the child To move in other spheres. The Mother weeps At that white funeral of the single life, Her maiden daughter’s marriage; and her tears Are half of pleasure, half of pain—the child Is happy—even in leaving her! but Thou, True daughter, whose all-faithful, filial eyes Have seen the loneliness of earthly thrones, Wilt neither quit the widow’d Crown, nor let This later light of Love have risen in vain, But moving thro’ the Mother’s home, between The two that love thee, lead a summer life, Sway’d by each Love, and swaying to each Love, Like some conjectured planet in mid heaven Between two suns, and drawing down from both The light and genial warmth of double day. |