The author of this poem was known for the poems she composed between the ages of four and fourteen, which her mother transcribed as she wrote them. Also, coincidentally, her mother was an Assistant Professor of English at Smith! This poem is tragic for the same reasons it's beautiful; it captures the hope and compassion of a child who wants her dreams to help not only herself but other children.
Now the flowers are all folded
And the dark is going by.
The evening is arising…
It is time to rest.
When I am sleeping
I find my pillow full of dreams.
They are all new dreams:
No one told them to me
Before I came through the cloud.
They remember the sky, my little dreams,
They have wings, they are quick, they are sweet.
Help me tell my dreams
To the other children,
So that their bread may taste whiter,
So that the milk they drink
May make them think of meadows
In the sky of stars.
Help me give bread to the other children
So that their dreams may come back:
So they will remember what they knew
Before they came through the cloud.
Let me hold their little hands in the dark,
The lonely children,
The babies that have no mothers any more.
Dear God, let me hold up my silver cup
For them to drink,
And tell them the sweetness
Of my dreams.