The mother will not turn, who thinks she hears br Her nursling's speech first grow articulate; br But breathless with averted eyes elate br She sits, with open lips and open ears, br That it may call her twice. 'Mid doubts and fears br Thus oft my soul has hearkened; till the song, br A central moan for days, at length found tongue, br And the sweet music welled and the sweet tears. br br But now, whatever while the soul is fain br To list that wonted murmur, as it were br The speech-bound sea-shell's low importunate strain, - br No breath of song, thy voice alone is there, br O bitterly beloved! and all her gain br Is but the pang of unpermitted prayer.