Ten months I ministered my Herbert's food,
And gladly deemed that task should be renewed
For thee my babe, but weakness laid me low
And dried that fount and bade mine eyes o'erflow
With fruitless tears that on thy couch I shed,
And wished them pearls to crown thy precious head.
Too soon I felt, dear babes with twofold pain
My weakened limbs no more could yours sustain:
A mother's love can never change or die
Yet sometimes gazes with a heavy eye.
Partaking of the body's sore distress
It lives for sorrow not for happiness.
This chiefest sorrow my affliction knew
That suffering stole so many thoughts from you.
And this my comfort that your jocund eyes
Viewed tears in mine with no unblest surprise:
For what of tears can your light bosoms deem
But April gems that freshen where they gleam?
How have I longed to lead your childish feet
By mossy brooks to copses fresh and sweet!
That bliss denied this happiness I know
To point where blossoms of Parnassus grow
And garlands twine upon my sickly bed
To grace your pensive brows when I am dead.