So they built the heavy wall about her,
And then brought the infant in his cradle,
Which a long, long while his mother suckled.
Then her voice grew feeble—then was silent:
Still the stream flow’d forth and nursed the infant:
Full a year he hung upon her bosom;
Still the stream flow’d forth—and still it floweth.[5]
Women, when the life-stream dries within them,
Thither come—the place retains its virtue—
Thither come, to still their crying infants!