Eleanor Farjeon

“ The birds dipped straight as her ball when a silver fin
Glanced in the shallow crests.
She ran so swift, and suddenly stopped as swift
To look at a shell, or splash up a pool in rain;
Wind blew, and she in the wind began to drift
Foam-like, and suddenly ran again.
Children who played on the shore in the last of the day
Paused and watched in wonder her rise and fall
Like elders watching a child: she was younger than they
As she ran by the sea with her ball. ”

“ MONG the stripped and sooty twigs of the wild cherry tree Sometimes they flit and swing as though two blossoms of the Spring Had quickened on these bleak October branches suddenly.
They are like fairy birds flown down from skies which no one knows,
Their pointed yellow bills are bright as April daffodils,
Their plumy whiteness heavenly as January snows.
Loveliest guests that choose our garden-plot for loitering!
Oh, what a sudden flower of joy is set upon the hour
When in their cherry cages two white blackbirds sit and swing. ”

“ THE GIRL WITH THE BALL.
HE ran with her ball in her light dress floating and free, Tossing it, tossing it up in the evening light, She ran with her ball at the edge of the outgoing sea On sand which the dropping sun turned bright.
Over the sea hung birds more white than the skin
Of the last few swimmers who took the waves with their breasts ”

“ Their interests, their frets, their loneliness,
Their sorrows and despairs,
She wore for them—they saw her in no dress
That was not theirs.
She learned to understand the solitudes
When she by none was sought;
Men of themselves grow sick, and in those moods
Needed her not,
Getting relief of others who gave things
By their own purpose lit ”

“ We watched the milking Babe at her breast, and we saw her smile.
Even as we she lay upon straw, and even as we
Took her sleep in the dark of the manger unfretfully,
And when the dawn of the strange new Star discovered her thus,
The ray that was destined for her and for Him fell also on us;
The light passed into her eyes and ours, and full in its flood
We were first to behold the first mothering look of the Mother of God.
{20}
CHILD’S CAROL
HEN there dawns a certain Star
Comes a Stranger into the city;
The feet of prayer his dear feet are,
His hands they are the hands of pity. ”