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36
MOTHERLESS.
What's the meaning of it,Mother, the meaning of it all?
Dear, alas, I do not know—
But a cloud is o'er my life that is the shadow of the pall
Spread above you long ago,
When they carried you away to that last home
Where all come.
Dear, alas, I do not know—
But a cloud is o'er my life that is the shadow of the pall
Spread above you long ago,
When they carried you away to that last home
Where all come.
Oh, that face, my mother's face, fair exceeding, dare I say,
And the little stately head,
And the warm white hand of comfort,—dust to dust and clay to clay,
Low she lieth, being dead;
Little grasses rustle soft, through cold and heat,
At her feet.
And the little stately head,
And the warm white hand of comfort,—dust to dust and clay to clay,
Low she lieth, being dead;
Little grasses rustle soft, through cold and heat,
At her feet.
Better, verily, I think, we twain had loved each other,
Had we only, only, known
Better, you, this child of yours, and better, I, my mother,
Ere your time was past and gone:
There were heights and depths our love had left unproved,
My beloved.
Had we only, only, known
Better, you, this child of yours, and better, I, my mother,
Ere your time was past and gone:
There were heights and depths our love had left unproved,
My beloved.
37
Oh, the sting that's in the words, I cannot understand—
Oh, the look into the eyes;
Oh, the utter, utter pathos of the pressure of the hand,—
All my heart breaks out in cries,
Cries, beloved, like the bitter cries it cried
When you died.
Oh, the look into the eyes;
Oh, the utter, utter pathos of the pressure of the hand,—
All my heart breaks out in cries,
Cries, beloved, like the bitter cries it cried
When you died.
I am glad for sun and wind, and the stress of life, nor seek
Just for rest and merely rest;
But at times I only want to lay my cheek against your cheek,
And my breast against your breast;
There in quietness and silentness to lie,
You and I.
Just for rest and merely rest;
But at times I only want to lay my cheek against your cheek,
And my breast against your breast;
There in quietness and silentness to lie,
You and I.
Oh, I should not ask to dream, and I should not need to sleep,—
Just lie breathing happy breath,
With silence wrapping both of us, so wonderful and deep,
One might fancy it were death,
Yet be conscious of the gladness and the gain,
After pain.
Just lie breathing happy breath,
With silence wrapping both of us, so wonderful and deep,
One might fancy it were death,
Yet be conscious of the gladness and the gain,
After pain.
It should be when night was come, and had given all mortal things
The beatitude of rest;
And the sick and tired and sinful, underneath her brooding wings,
For a little while were blest;
I most blest of all, I think, and satisfied
At your side.
The beatitude of rest;
And the sick and tired and sinful, underneath her brooding wings,
For a little while were blest;
I most blest of all, I think, and satisfied
At your side.
38
And from out that happy calm, happy quiet, none should rouse
Till the east were living flame,
And the stir of busy feet and busy tongues were in the house,
And the hour of labour came;
Then 'twere time to move and feel but empty air,
Where you were.
Till the east were living flame,
And the stir of busy feet and busy tongues were in the house,
And the hour of labour came;
Then 'twere time to move and feel but empty air,
Where you were.
Mother! Mother! Mother sweet, come and let me tell you all,
Or else, tell me that you know;
And your love will greatly comfort and your blessed presence fall
As a healing upon woe;—
So, a child again, upon your heart I lie,—
Now, Goodbye.
Or else, tell me that you know;
And your love will greatly comfort and your blessed presence fall
As a healing upon woe;—
So, a child again, upon your heart I lie,—
Now, Goodbye.
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