| |
| THROUGH the fierce fever I nursed him, and then he said | |
| I was the woman—I!—that he would wed; | |
| He sent a boat with men for his own white priest, | |
| And he gave my father horses, and made a feast. | |
| I am his wife: if he has forgotten me, | 5 |
| I will not live for scorning eyes to see. | |
| (Little wild baby, that knowest not where thou art going, | |
| Lie still! lie still! Thy mother will do the rowing.) | |
| |
| Three moons ago—it was but three moons ago— | |
| He took his gun, and started across the snow; | 10 |
| For the river was frozen, the river that still goes down | |
| Every day, as I watch it, to find the town; | |
| The town whose name I caught from his sleeping lips, | |
| A place of many people and many ships. | |
| (Little wild baby, that knowest not where thou art going, | 15 |
| Lie still! lie still! Thy mother will do the rowing.) | |
| |
| I to that town am going, to search the place, | |
| With his little white son in my arms, till I see his face. | |
| Only once shall I need to look in his eyes, | |
| To see if his soul, as I knew it, lives or dies. | 20 |
| If it lives, we live, and if it is dead, we die, | |
| And the soul of my baby will never ask me why. | |
| (Little wild baby, that knowest not where thou art going, | |
| Lie still! lie still! Thy mother will do the rowing.) | |
| |
| I have asked about the river: one answered me, | 25 |
| That after the town it goes to find the sea; | |
| That great waves, able to break the stoutest bark, | |
| Are there, and the sea is very deep and dark. | |
| If he is happy without me, so best, so best; | |
| I will take his baby, and go away to my rest. | 30 |
| (Little wild baby, that knowest not where thou art going, | |
| Lie still! lie still! Thy mother will do the rowing. | |
| The river flows swiftly, the sea is dark and deep; | |
| Little wild baby, lie still! Lie still and sleep.) | |
| |
