IV

Rock me to and fro in your arms, mother. It is night.

There is something of endless motion, of final ceasing of care,

In your rocking of me now from now into the light

That the cottage lamp sheds on your rocking fire with the same yellow flare.

Let me sleep, let me sleep, outsleep the ages and Time.

Drift far away from space like a hulk away from shore.

Be your arms around me like a land or a day or a clime,

Be your casual lips on my brow like forgiveness of crime.

Rock me till I lose being, mother, rock me still more.