Araluen

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