Classic Poem

I looked into a woman's face,
The scars of pain and care
Had marred the beauty and the grace
That once was native there.

She pleaded as she slowly rocked,
That if God willed it so,
That He would have death's door unlocked
And kindly let her go.

And as her wasted fingers she
Upon her bosom pressed,
One could have almost wished that He
Would grant her sad request.

I turned away relief to seek,
In maiden features fair,
The waratah had brushed her cheek,
The sun had kissed her hair.

But as I looked she softly sighed,
And o'er her eyes so blue,
A thought cloud hovered, God!—I cried,
Do maidens sorrow too?

And then again I turned away
From sign of sorrow's blight,
To where a sleeping infant lay,
A soul bud pure and white.

Ah! sorrow surely here is not,
I said with cautious peep,
But as I bent above its cot,
'Twas sobbing in its sleep.