The Stone Age

Bright-haired, blue-eyed, with naked feet,
And young face lit with rosy blood,

She rocked her babe, and dreamed the sweet
Primeval dream of motherhood.

A wondrous babe, that once had grown
A branch among the branches green —
For nurslings of the Age of Stone
Are mainly bairns of wood, I ween.

A mother strangely young, and sage
Beyond the summers she had told,
For mothers of that ancient Age
Are usually five years old.

God bless thy heart maternal, bless

Thy bower of stone, thy sheltering tree,
Thou small prospective ancestress

Of generations yet to be!

IIt