Guest poem submitted by Vivek Nallur :
(Poem #1633) A Cradle Song
The angels are stooping Above your bed; They weary of trooping With the whimpering dead. God's laughing in Heaven To see you so good; The Sailing Seven are gay with His mood. I sigh that kiss you, For I must own That I shall miss you When you have grown.
After the last few (mostly) sombre poems, here's another one on yearning, yet a lot more cheerful. Anyone who's seen a little one grow up will identify with the feeling of sweet loss when the child lets go of one's finger and walks on its own. There's a more than adequate bio of Yeats with Poem #32. Vivek.