Thomas Hardy — To an Orphan Child

Ah, child, thou art but half thy darling mother's;         Hers couldst thou wholly be, My light in thee would outglow all in others;         She would relive to me. But niggard Nature's trick of birth         Bars, lest she overjoy, Renewal of the loved on earth         Save with alloy. The Dame has no regard, alas, my maiden,         For love and loss like mine - No sympathy with mind-sight memory-laden;         Only with fickle eyne. To her mechanic artistry         My dreams are all unknown, And why I wish that thou couldst be         But One's alone!