Lisp'd the mute Innocence with thunder-sound;
"Woman, where is thy husband?"—called unto me,
In every look, word, whisper, busying round!
For thee, poor child, there is no father's kiss.
He fondleth other children on his knee.
How thou wilt curse our momentary bliss,
When Bastard on thy name shall branded be!
10.
Thy mother—oh, a hell her heart concealeth,
Lone-sitting, lone in social Nature's All!