Poems (Taylor)/Death
DEATH
Mater Nostra
Mine is the kiss of motherhood. Why fear The dusky regal splendour of my brows? As some great queen of persecuted houseWith many a lingering yearning kiss and tearConfides to lowly arms her princeling dear, Until the imperious martial music rouse The land to memory of its ancient vows,—With Life, thy foster-nurse, I hid thee here.
Now would I wean thee softly from this Past That wrongs the erstwhile playmate of the stars; Forget those low dim hills, those pale pent skies.Hail! thou hast heired the Infinite at last; And kingly pleasures wait thee, kingly wars.— Come, gather godhead from my nearer eyes.