Poems (Cook)/I miss thee, my Mother

by Eliza Cook

I MISS THEE, MY MOTHER.

I miss thee, my Mother, thy image is still
 The deepest impress'd on my heart;
And the tablet so faithful, in death must be chill,
 Ere a line of that image depart.
Thou wert torn from my side when I treasured thee most;
 When my reason could measure thy worth;
When I knew but too well that the idol I'd lost
 Could be never replaced upon earth.

I miss thee, my Mother, in circles of joy,
 Where I've mingled with rapturous zest;
For how slight is the touch that will serve to destroy
 All the fairy web spun in my breast.
Some melody sweet may be floating around—
 'Tis a ballad I learnt at thy knee;
Some strain may be play'd, and I shrink from the sound;
 For my fingers oft woke it for thee.

I miss thee, my Mother, when young health has fled,
 And I sink in the languor of pain:
Where, where is the arm that once pillow'd my head,
 And the ear that once heard me complain?
Other hands may support, gentle accents may fall—
 For the fond and the true are yet mine:
I've a blessing for each; I am grateful to all—
 But whose care can be soothing as thine?

I miss thee, my Mother, in summer's fair day,
 When I rest in the ivy-wreathed bower;
When I hang thy pet linnet's cage high on the spray,
 Or gaze on thy favourite flower.
There's the bright gravel-path where I play'd by thy side,
 When Time had scarce wrinkled thy brow,
Where I carefully led thee with worshipping pride,
 When thy glossy locks gather'd the snow.

I miss thee, my Mother, in winter's long night:
 I remember the tales thou wouldst tell—
The romance of wild fancy, the legend of fright—
 Oh who could e'er tell them so well?
Thy corner is vacant; thy chair is removed;
 It was kind to take that from my eye:
Yet relics are round me—the sacred and loved—
 To call up the pure sorrow-fed sigh.

I miss thee, my Mother, oh, when do I not?
 Though I know 'twas the wisdom of Heaven
That the deepest shade fell on my sunniest spot;
 And such tie of devotion was riven.
For when thou wert with me, my soul was below;
 I was chain'd to the world I then trod;
My affections, my thoughts, were all earth-bound; but now
 They have follow'd thy spirit to God!