MY MOTHER.
117
Could paint the image of thy loveliness
Upon my infant soul. Yet many friends
Have told me thou wast beautiful beyond
The poet's twilight imaging. They say
That thy fair, blue-veined forehead nestled 'mid
The dark brown clusters of thy tresses, like
The spirit of sweet purity among
The clouds of earthly gloom; that thy black eye,
Calm, proud, and beautiful, beamed with the pure
High visions of thy soul, as midnight waves
Gleam with the flashing star-beams; that thy cheek,
For ever living with the blended hues
Of rose and lily, seemed to glow with more
Than earthly beauty; and that thy red lips
Took added witcheries from the beaming smiles,
And from the tones of gentle melody
That ever hung around them. Ay, I've heard
Full oft of thy entrancing charms, and mused
In silence on them till my soul has sketched
A picture of surpassing loveliness,
And fondly named it thee; and oh I feel
I could for ever kneel and worship it
Upon my infant soul. Yet many friends
Have told me thou wast beautiful beyond
The poet's twilight imaging. They say
That thy fair, blue-veined forehead nestled 'mid
The dark brown clusters of thy tresses, like
The spirit of sweet purity among
The clouds of earthly gloom; that thy black eye,
Calm, proud, and beautiful, beamed with the pure
High visions of thy soul, as midnight waves
Gleam with the flashing star-beams; that thy cheek,
For ever living with the blended hues
Of rose and lily, seemed to glow with more
Than earthly beauty; and that thy red lips
Took added witcheries from the beaming smiles,
And from the tones of gentle melody
That ever hung around them. Ay, I've heard
Full oft of thy entrancing charms, and mused
In silence on them till my soul has sketched
A picture of surpassing loveliness,
And fondly named it thee; and oh I feel
I could for ever kneel and worship it
