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151

SONNET III
A SON TO A MOTHER

Ah! mother, hadst thou died when I was young
I could not then have borne it. Then my eyes
Would have lost sight of thee within vague skies:
My youth would chiefliest of all shafts have stung.
I should have seen the far blue hill-tops rise
Peak above peak,—and to the lowest rung
Of the celestial stair I should have clung
Hopeless; or hoping but with wild surmise.
But, now that I am old, I feel so near
Thy dwelling. “Soon” I say with humble glee
“The day will come when I shall follow thee.
Thy country on my vision rises clear;
The whispers of its summer winds I hear;
Its populous streets I very soon shall see.”