Thomas R. Lounsbury, ed. (1838–1915). Yale Book of American Verse. 1912.
Thomas Bailey Aldrich 1836–1907
Thomas Bailey Aldrich187 Baby Bell
H
How came the dainty Baby Bell
Into this world of ours?
The gates of heaven were left ajar:
With folded hands and dreamy eyes,
Wandering out of Paradise,
She saw this planet, like a star,
Hung in the glistening depths of even—
Its bridges running to and fro,
O’er which the white-winged Angels go,
Bearing the holy Dead to heaven.
She touched a bridge of flowers—those feet,
So light they did not bend the bells
Of the celestial asphodels,
They fell like dew upon the flowers:
Then all the air grew strangely sweet.
And thus came dainty Baby Bell
Into this world of ours.
The swallows built beneath the eaves; Like sunlight, in and out the leaves The robins went, the livelong day; The lily swung its noiseless bell; And on the porch the slender vine Held out its cups of fairy wine. Oh, earth was full of singing-birds And opening springtide flowers, When the dainty Baby Bell Came into this world of ours. How fair she grew from day to day! What woman-nature filled her eyes, What poetry within them lay— Those deep and tender twilight eyes, So full of meaning, pure and bright As if she yet stood in the light Of those oped gates of Paradise. And so we loved her more and more: Ah, never in our hearts before Was love so lovely born. We felt we had a link between This real world and that unseen— The land beyond the morn; And for the love of those dear eyes, For love of her whom God led forth, (The mother’s being ceased on earth When Baby came from Paradise,)— For love of Him who smote our lives, And woke the chords of joy and pain, We said, Dear Christ!—our hearts bowed down Like violets after rain. And pink with blossoms when she came, Were rich in autumn’s mellow prime; The clustered apples burnt like flame, The folded chestnut burst its shell, The grapes hung purpling, range on range: And time wrought just as rich a change In little Baby Bell. Her lissome form more perfect grew, And in her features we could trace, In softened curves, her mother’s face. Her angel-nature ripened too: We thought her lovely when she came, But she was holy, saintly now.… Around her pale angelic brow We saw a slender ring of flame. That held the portals of her speech; And oft she said a few strange words Whose meaning lay beyond our reach. She never was a child to us, We never held her being’s key; We could not teach her holy things Who was Christ’s self in purity. We saw its shadow ere it fell— The knowledge that our God had sent His messenger for Baby Bell. We shuddered with unlanguaged pain, And all our hopes were changed to fears, And all our thoughts ran into tears Like sunshine into rain. We cried aloud in our belief, “Oh, smite us gently, gently, God! Teach us to bend and kiss the rod, And perfect grow through grief.” Ah! how we loved her, God can tell; Her heart was folded deep in ours. Our hearts are broken, Baby Bell! The messenger from unseen lands: And what did dainty Baby Bell? She only crossed her little hands, She only looked more meek and fair! We parted back her silken hair, We wove the roses round her brow— White buds, the summer’s drifted snow— Wrapt her from head to foot in flowers.… And thus went dainty Baby Bell Out of this world of ours.
She came and brought delicious May;
O Baby, dainty Baby Bell,
And now the orchards, which were white
God’s hand had taken away the seal
It came upon us by degrees,
At last he came, the messenger,