Sara Coleridge (1802–1852)

FULL oft beside some gorgeous fane

The youngling heifer bleeds and dies;

Her life-blood issuing forth amain,

While wreaths of incense climb the skies.

The mother wanders all around,

Thro’ shadowy grove and lightsome glade;

Her footmarks on the yielding ground

Will prove what anxious quest she made.

The stall where late her darling lay

She visits oft with eager look;

In restless movements wastes the day,

And fills with cries each neighb’ring nook.

She roams along the willowy copse,

Where purest waters softly gleam;

But ne’er a leaf or blade she crops,

Nor couches by the gliding stream.

No youthful kine, tho’ fresh and fair,

Her vainly searching eyes engage;

No pleasant fields relieve her care,

No murmuring streams her grief assuage.