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| Poems by Women |
A Child
Mary Lamb. 1765-1847
A CHILD 's a plaything for an hour;
Its pretty
tricks we try
For that or for a longer space--
Then tire, and lay
it by.
But I knew one that to itself
All seasons could control;
That
would have mock'd the sense of pain
Out of a grieved soul.
Thou straggler into loving arms,
Young climber-up of knees,
When
I forget thy thousand ways
Then life and all shall cease.
From: Quiller-Couch, Arthur.
The Oxford Book of Verse. (1900)
This poet:
[Author index]
This collection assembled by Jone Johnson Lewis.
Collection © 1999-2002 Jone Johnson Lewis.
Citing poems from these pages:
| Author. "Poem Title." Women's History: Poems by Women. Jone Johnson Lewis, editor. URL: (date of logon) |
