Longings

I’d love a little attic room where any time of day
I could take up my pen and pad and hide myself away.
The sunbeams stealing through the rift of windows opened high
My pen would prison fast those thoughts that long to reach the sky:
A little room, an attic room, a room where I may stray
And hold the sunbeams in my hands before they flee away.

I’d love a little glimpse of light, the kind that makes you feel,
All warm, yet shivery inside; the kind that would reveal
A hundred thousand little things that hurry by each day
To leave me standing wistfully and yearning by the way.
I’d love a little glimpse of light, the kind my heart replies
God must have made to sparkle in a mother’s tender eyes.

I’d love a little attic and I’d love a little light;
But holding back these two from me, God surely must be right
For when the night time startles my head upraised in prayer
God and my angel mother, then, I know you are with me, there;
The attic room, the tiny light, so small they flee away
And leave me so ashamed of all the longings of the day.

– Circa 1925

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