Like a policeman, to help her, turns on his bull's-eye.
III.
There's a hovel of mud, and the crone, mudded and muddled,
Knocks, and an oxidized hinge creaks a rusty "Come in."
There are now in the hovel,—a woman in bed-gear huddled,
A careworn man, and a midwife, her functional fee to win.
IV.
Midwives are hard as millstones: Expectant father's emotions
Are dragg'd by the heart's wild tide, like seashore shingle,
Shrieking complaint, when the fierce assaults of the ocean