Sonnet 143

Lo, as a careful housewife runs to catch

One of her feather’d creatures broke away,

Sets down her babe and makes all swift dispatch

In pursuit of the thing she would have stay,

Whilst her neglected child holds her in chase,

Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent

To follow that which flies before her face,

Not prizing her poor infant’s discontent;

So runn’st thou after that which flies from thee,

Whilst I thy babe chase thee afar behind.

But if thou catch thy hope, turn back to me,

And play the mother’s part, kiss me, be kind.

So will I pray that thou mayst have thy will,

If thou turn back and my loud crying still.

Like a busy housewife who runs

To catch the delivery man before he gets away

And has to set down her child, who begins

To cry—

The boy trotting after her,

Half stumbling, not so fast—

While she does not bother

To think of him in her adult haste,

Chasing after a man

Whose business, already, is elsewhere—

But catch him, if you can,

And come back to me here.

As you need your passion, adventurous, wild,

I need your love, mothering, mild.