For Another.
Reading edition
Sweet—sweet? My child, some sweeter word than sweet, Some lovelier word than love, I want for you. Who says the world is bitter, while your feet Are left among the lilies and the dew? Ah? So some other has, this night, to fold Such hands as his, and drop some precious head From off her breast as full of baby-gold? I, for her grief, will not be comforted.
S.M.B. Piatt.