ARALUEN
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.
Ah! the saddest thought in leaving baby in this
bush alone
Is that we have not been able on her grave to place
a stone:
We have been too poor to do it; but, my darling,
never mind—
God is in the gracious heavens, and His sun and rain
are kind:
They will dress the spot with beauty, they will
make the grasses grow;
Many winds will lull our birdie, many songs will
come and go.
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 wide, wild waters, we will tread
another shore—
We will never watch this blossom, never see it any
more.
Girl, whose hand at God’s high 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 lost austere
Ever pressing with it’s 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.
--By Henry Clarence Kendall (published 1903)
THIS POEM WAS WRITTEN ABOUT THE POET’S LATE DAUGHTER
