For the Little One

Who's doing remarkably well. Children just have an amazing ability to promptly forget the episodes of pain in their joyful experience of life. The Little One is no exception to that rule. To her, it's almost as if the crazy events of yesterday never ever happened. When we speak of it, guardedly, she looks at us without comprehension, and I'm glad for that. We're treating her like a true princess today, with videos on deck (High School Musical 1, Happy Feet), three exciting new books from the library (My Pretty Pony, Island Princess Barbie, and Scooby Doo), and indoor camping tonight with popcorn. Tomorrow the inflatable pool gets filled with cool water.

So, this poem's for her. It's one of my favorites of Walt Whitman's, and even as the Little One was in her mama's womb I was looking forward to the day I could give this to her and she would understand it all.

ON THE BEACH AT NIGHT

On the beach at night,
Stands a child with her father,
Watching the east, the autumn sky.

Up through the darkness,
While ravening clouds, the burial clouds, in black masses spreading,
Lower sullen and fast athwart and down the sky,
Amid a transparent clear belt of ether yet left in the east,
Ascends large and calm the lord-star Jupiter,
And nigh at hand, only a very little above,
Swim the delicate sisters the Pleiades.

From the beach the child holding the hand of her father,
Those burial clouds that lower victorious soon to devour all,
Watching, silently weeps.

Weep not, child,
Weep not, my darling,
With these kisses let me remove your tears,
The ravening clouds shall not long be victorious,
They shall not long possess the sky, they devour the stars only in apparition,
Jupiter shall emerge, be patient, watch again another night, the Pleiades shall emerge,
They are immortal, all those stars both silvery and golden shall shine out again,
The great stars and the little ones shall shine out again, they endure,
The vast immortal suns and the long-enduring pensive moons shall again shine.

Then dearest child mournest thou only for Jupiter?
Considerest thou alone the burial of the stars?

Something there is,
(With my lips soothing thee, adding I whisper,
I give thee the first suggestion, the problem and indirection,)
Something there is more immortal even than the stars,
(Many the burials, many the days and nights, passing away,)
Something that shall endure longer even than lustrous Jupiter,
Longer than sun or any revolving satellite,
Or the radiant sisters the Pleiades.