He moaned and beat with his head and feet, His little feet that never grew; He struck them out, as it was meet, Against my heart to break it through: I might have sung and made him mild, But I dared not sing to the white-faced child The only song I knew.
I pulled the kerchief very close: He could not see the sun, I swear, More, then, alive, than now he does From between the roots of the mango ... where? I know where. Close! A child and mother Do wrong to look at one another When one is black and one is fair.
Why, in that single glance I had Of my child's face, ... I tell you all, I saw a look that made me mad! The _master's_ look, that used to fall On my soul like his lash ... or worse! And so, to save it from my curse, I twisted it round in my shawl.
And he moaned and trembled from foot to head, He shivered from head to foot; Till after a time, he lay instead Too suddenly still and mute. I felt, beside, a stiffening cold: I dared to lift up just a fold, As in lifting a leaf of the mango-fruit.
But _my_ fruit ... ha, ha!--there, had been (I laugh to think on 't at this hour!) Your fine white angels (who have seen Nearest the secret of God's power) And plucked my fruit to make them wine, And sucked the soul of that child of mine As the humming-bird sucks the soul of the flower.
Ha, ha, the trick of the angels white! They freed the white child's spirit so. I said not a word, but day and night I carried the body to and fro, And it lay on my heart like a stone, as chill. --The sun may shine out as much as he will: I am cold, though it happened a month ago.
From the white man's house, and the black man's hut, I carried the little body on; The forest's arms did round us shut, And silence through the trees did run: They asked no question as I went, They stood too high for astonishment, They could see God sit on his throne.
My little body, kerchiefed fast, I bore it on through the forest, on; And when I felt it was tired at last, I scooped a hole beneath the moon: Through the forest-tops the angels far, With a white sharp finger from every star, Did point and mock at what was done.
Yet when it was all done aught,-- Earth, 'twixt me and my baby, strewed,-- All, changed to black earth,--nothing white,-- A dark child in the dark!--ensued Some comfort, and my heart grew young; I sate down smiling there and sung The song I learnt in my maidenhood.