XV. Mother Child   Child of my eternal parenthood, You play in my dark rooms. Would That the light of dying love— Not the glow of death's warm strife But the red of coals seen from above The grey cold fire—be breathed to life. Mother of my unending need of haven, Lady of my sorrows, my heart's light And, blonde and burnished, raven Darkness who contains my night: You are the breast where I nurse life; You are the womb from whence I came And where I, when returning, sink knife- Solid, harmless, home. Love is your name.