Pity

ALONG the dawn the little star went singing,
Low-poised and clear to see,
Shaking the light, like drops of May-dew, clinging
Her bright locks mistily.
Like any snowflake faded in the winging,
Her voice fell white to me.

“ O winds of Earth, that sorrow as ye fly
And take no rest,
Why go ye ever seeking, with that cry,
Some ruined nest ?

“ Why weep, my world ? Ah, strange and sad thou art,
Thou far-off one,
The saddest wanderer that hath warmed her heart
At yonder sun.

“ And I would give thee comfort if I might,
That know not how ;
Haply I see not far, for all the light
About my brow.

“ But who shall be thy sister, sorrowing ?
Ah me! Not I
That wander in a bond of joy and sing,
And know not why, —

“ Along the dawn, across unfathomed deep,
Unspent, unbowed,
Through shallows of the moonlight thin as sleep,
Through fields of cloud.

“ Poor world, thou agèd world, I only know
That I am led
A songful journey : art not thou ? Nay, so,
Be comforted.”

Along the dawn the little star went, winging
Glad ways across the wild,
Shaking the light that clung to her, enringing. —
An unremembering child.
Wide arms of morning gathered her, still singing :
And the Earth saw, and smiled.

Josephine Preston Peabody.