Now she need dread no more to grow
Too old for him, she need not know
The bitterness when he who was
All hers turns to some younger face,
And she his mother stands aside,
Bidding her heart be satisfied.
She need not to her own heart say,
‘Fool, to be jealous! Now give way.
The young are for the young, and all
The new things are but natural.
Cast no least shadow on his feast;
Be glad just to be second best.’
She need not to her chill heart tell
She’s loved a different way, but well.
And like that bird who leans her heart
Upon a thorn to ease its smart
Turn to the child who’s taken his love
So that her darling son approve.
Now she’s no longer dispossessed —
For second best’s but second best —
He’s hers for all Eternity
And she his one felicity.
Her little son, as when he lay
Small in her arms one heavenly day.
by Katharine Tynan