Poetry Archives

I hear her rocking the baby—
  Her room is just next to mine—
And I fancy I feel the dimpled arms
  That round her neck entwine,
As she rocks, and rocks the baby,
  In the room just next to mine.
I hear her rocking the baby
  Each day when the twilight comes,
And I know there’s a world of blessing and love
  In the “baby bye” she hums.
I can see the restless fingers
  Playing with “mamma’s rings,”
And the sweet little smiling, pouting mouth,
  That to hers in kissing clings,
As she rocks and sings to the baby,
  And dreams as she rocks and sings.

I hear her rocking the baby,
  Slower and slower now,
And I know she is leaving her good-night kiss
  On its eyes, and cheek, and brow
From her rocking, rocking, rocking,
  I wonder would she start,
Could she know, through the wall between us,
  She is rocking on a heart.
While my empty arms are aching
  For a form they may not press
And my emptier heart is breaking
  In its desolate loneliness
I list to the rocking, rocking,
  In the room just next to mine,
And breathe a prayer in silence,
  At a mother’s broken shrine,
For the woman who rocks her baby
  In the room just next to mine.