You were my dream child, and I must awaken,
My arms are empty, sweet babe unborn,
For me the lone quiet, while night is fast darkening;
Darkening now, and there’s toil on the morn.
The days come and go, toil is ever supreme;
Motherhood smother, the thought is vain.
Forget it, indeed, for wheels must be turning,
Turning incessantly—more wealth to gain!
Passionate Instinct
By Emily Huntington Miller