St. Brigid, please keep My babies asleep!

My heart shall keep the child I knew, When you are really gone from me, And spend its life remembering you As shells remember the lost sea.

There is a mirror in my room Less like a mirror than a tomb, There are so many ghosts that pass Across the surface of the glass.

When people inquire I always just state: "I have four nice children and hope to have eight."

Deborah danced, when she was two, As buttercups and daffodils do; Spirited, frail, naïvely bold, Her hair a ruffled crest of gold.

I shall not be afraid any more, Either by night or day; What would it profit me to be afraid With you away? * * * For there is only sorrow in my heart; There is no room for fear. But how I wish I were afraid again, My dear, my dear!

For life seems only a shuddering breath, A smothered, desperate cry, And things have a terrible permanence When people die.