By Ella Wheeler Wilcox

   IT was long, long ago that a soul like a flower
   Unfolded, and blossomed, and passed in an hour.
   It was long, long ago ; and the memory seems
   Like the pleasures and sorrows that come in our dreams.
   The kind years have crowned me with many a joy
   Since the going away of my wee little boy ;
   Each one as it passed me has stooped with a kiss,
   And left some delight--knowing one thing I miss.
   But when in the park or the street, all elate
   A baby I see, in his carriage of state,
   As proud as a king, in his little go-cart--
   I feel all the mother-love stir in my heart !
   And I seem to be back in that long-vanished May ;
   And the baby who came but to hurry away
   In the little white hearse is not dead, but alive,
   And out in his little go-cart for a drive.
   I whisper a prayer as he rides down the street,
   And my thoughts follow after him, tender and sweet ;
   For I know, by a law that is vast and divine,
   Though I know not his name that the baby is mine !\