Silent Baby

The Baby sits in her cradle, Watching the world go round, Enrapt in a mystical silence, Amid all the tumult of sound. She must be akin to the flowers, For no one has heard A whispered word From this silent baby of ours. Wondering, she looks at the children, As they merrily laughing pass, And smiles o’er her face go rippling, Like sunshine over the grass And into the heart of the flowers; But never a word Has yet been heard From this silent darling of ours. Has she a wonderful wisdom, Of unspoken knowledge a store, Hid away from all curious eyes, Like the mysterious lore Of the bees and the birds and the flowers? Is this why no word Has ever been heard From this silent baby of ours? Ah, baby, from out your blue eyes The angel of silence is smiling,— Though silvern hereafter your speech, Your silence is golden,—beguiling All hearts to this darling of ours, Who speaks not a word Of all she has heard, Like the birds, the bees, and the flowers.