My Mother.
MY dear, lost mother, it is midnight now,
The sky is dark and starless, and the earth
Seems bound as with a spell of silence. All
Around is still and pulseless as the heart
Whence life has fled for ever. At this hour,
When in my listenings I can hear no sound,
Save the low earnest voice of my own soul
Calling in grief to Heaven, I would invoke
Thy spirit from its blessed home, to hold
Communion with thy child.
The sky is dark and starless, and the earth
Seems bound as with a spell of silence. All
Around is still and pulseless as the heart
Whence life has fled for ever. At this hour,
When in my listenings I can hear no sound,
Save the low earnest voice of my own soul
Calling in grief to Heaven, I would invoke
Thy spirit from its blessed home, to hold
Communion with thy child.
My thought retains
No vestige, mother, of thy form or face—
Death took thee from me long ere memory
No vestige, mother, of thy form or face—
Death took thee from me long ere memory
