Forgotten, in a chamber lone,
The hooded Cradle, brown and old,
Began to rock, began to moan,
“Where are the babes I used to hold?”
“To men and women they are grown,
And through the world their way must make.”
The Cradle rocked and made its moan,
“My babes no single step could take!”
“A helmsman one, on wide seas blown,
His sinewy hands the wheel employs."