Take this rose and very gently place it on the tender deep mosses where our little darling, Araluen lies asleep. Put the blossom close to baby – kneel with me, my love, and pray. We must leave the bird we’ve buried – say goodbye to her today. In the shadow of our trouble we must go to other lands. And the flowers we have fostered will be left to other hands. Other eyes will watch them growing – other feet will softly tread. Where two hearts are nearly breaking, where so many tears are shed. Bitter is the world we live in, life and love are mixed with pain. We will never see these daisies – never water them again.
Here the blue-eyed Spring will linger, here the shining month will stay,
Like a friend, by Araluen, when we two are far away
But, beyond the wild, wide waters, we will tread another shore
We will never watch this blossom, never see it any more.
Girl, whose hand at Creation’s splendid altar in the dear, dead year I pressed,
Lean your stricken head upon me – this is still your lover’s breast!
She who sleeps was first and sweetest – none we have to take her place!
Empty is the little cradle – absent is the little face.
Other children may be given; but this rose beyond recall,
But this garland of your girlhood, will be dearest of them all.
None will ever, Araluen, nestle where you used to be,
In my heart of hearts, you darling, when the world was new to me
We were young when you were with us, life and love were happy things
To your father and your mother ere the angels gave you wings.
You that sit and sob beside me – you, upon whose golden head
Many rains of many sorrows have from day to day been shed
Who, because your love was noble, faced with me the lot austere
Ever pressing with its hardship on the man of letters here
Let me feel that you are near me, lay your hand within mine own
You are all I have to live for, now that we are left alone.
Three there were, but one has vanished. Sins of mine have made you weep
But forgive your baby’s father now that baby is asleep.
Let us go, for night is falling, leave the darling with her flowers
Other hands will come and tend them – other friends in other hours.
Araluen (Water Lily) is the name of poet’s daughter who died in infancy. My own daughter (Nicole) passed away in 1992 and this poem has been on my reading list ever since.
Blog, Vef ❤
Poem by Henry Kendall