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.

3/13/69


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