Dora Sigerson Shorter,
The Mother
(1907)
“ Where throbbing thoughts must lie for ever hid. “Why this? why this?” comes forth the panting breath, “And was I born to taste of nought save death?” “Ho!” said the child, “how the proud horses shake Their silver harness till they music make. Who drives abroad with all this majesty? Is it some Prince who fain his world would see?” ”
