The Patchwork Bonnet

Across the room my silent love I throw,
    Where you sit sewing in bed by candlelight,
        Your young stern profile and industrious fingers
Displayed against the blind in a shadow-show,
    To Dinda's grave delight.

The needle dips and pokes, the cheerful thread
    Runs after, follow-my-leader down the seam:
        The patchwork pieces cry for joy together,
O soon to sit as a crown on Dinda's head,
    Fulfilment of their dream.

Snippets and odd ends folded by, forgotten,
    With camphor on a top shelf, hard to find,
        Now wake to this most happy resurrection,
To Dinda playing toss with a reel of cotton
    And staring at the blind.

Dinda in sing-song stretching out one hand
    Calls for the playthings; mother does not hear:
        Her mind sails far away on a patchwork Ocean,
And all the world must wait till she touches land;
    So Dinda cries in fear,

Then Mother turns, laughing like a young fairy,
    And Dinda smiles to see her look so kind,
        Calls out again for playthings, playthings, playthings;
And now the shadows make an Umbrian Mary
    Adoring, on the blind.