What is more beautiful Than to behold a mother, Suckling her child? Are there words to express The joy, the love, the tenderness Which smooths her face, warms her smile? Can cold unliving symbols dark Project the bond 'twixt mother and child? Nay, nor can a man Know the quiet ecstasy, the tranquil rapture She must feel, feeling her infant Nursing at her supple breast. She feels its tiny, groping hand above her heart, A heart made fast by her love; She strokes its curly silken hair And sings softly songs of gentle bliss. Such faithful, unquestioned love No man for woman may ever know; But such love as woman hath for child, No sublimer is there here below.
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