Aelfrida
Tillyard .
* A
MOTHER,
ON
HER
SON 'S
21st
BIRTHDAY .
M
Y
son
is mine
no more .
He
is
a man ,
IVI
And
as
a man
he meets his
life alone.
I'm
grown as
some madonna
carved
of
stone,
To kneel
before ,
to honour, and forget.
He was the child
I made
and
now
a man
I thought
his
very blood
was mine ;
I made his
soul and
with
it did
entwine
My soul, my
life , my
very
self - and
yet
He is
not I , he
stands
alone,
a man .
He cannot
see
I made
him
as he
is,
Gave him
the breath
of beauty
with my kiss,
· Taught
him
the
tune
of
pain
,
with
eyelids
wet
.
He loves me
,
but he needs me not
.
A
man
Needs but
himself
,
and right
;
but
I
—
but
I
I
need
a
child
;
I
need
to
hush
its
cry
,
And be the god
on
whom
its
eyes are
set
.
*
THE
IRISH
POET
.
M
Y
eyes are blue with
gazing
on
thy
deeps
,
IV
My hair
is
rippled
by
thy wind
,
O
sea
,
My lullaby
thy
song
that
never
sleeps
,
As thou
art limitless
,
so
am
I
free
.
O
sea
,
O
mountains
,
make my
song
to
be
Mist
of
the mountains
,
foam
of
the
sea
.
194