Harriet Prescott Spoffard
Something to live for came to our place,
Something to die for maybe,
Something to give even sorrow a grace,
And yet it was only a baby
Cooing, and laughter, and gurgles, and cries
Dimples for tenderest kisses,
Chaos of hopes, and of raptures, and sighs,
Chaos of fears and of blisses.
Last year, like all years, the rose and the thorn;
This year a wilderness maybe;
But heaven stopped under the roof on the morn
That I brought them only a baby.