Even as he pressed
The round grape to his lips,
Some dim remembrance of his mother's breast
Came back into his mind—
And once again he lay at rest
Blissfully drinking that sweet stream of life …
And he forgot the strife,
The unending struggle that oppressed;
Misfortune's blows; the searching whips
Of failure; and success, so hard to find!
As, knowing naught of hopes and fears,
And bodings of the future years,
Once more he lay at rest,
A dreamless baby at that tender breast.