Unborn

O wistful eyes that haunt the gloom of sleep, Are you my own, remembered from the night I sat before my glass in dumb affright And saw my cowering soul afraid to weep? Perhaps you are his, foreshadowed, when I creep Behind him and confess the hopeless blight That wilts the bloom of our supreme delight The breath of horror from the unknown deep. Eyes that have never seen a mother's face, Have you no mercy that you stare and stare, Although I never felt the hope I slew? Wide eyes, but when I kneel to God for grace, Your steadfast pity deepens my despair; The darkness I desire is full of you.