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I would give it all up at a word from you, Mother o' mine! But the strife has begun That I dare not shun: Yet my heart looks home to the rest it knew, To the question less trust and the welcome true; And you call to me now as you used to do, Mother o' mine!
The wonderful years that we shared are flown, Mother o' mine! The world has won The heart of your son; The child has died in the man full grown; The path of my life I must tread alone, And I dare not return when you call your own, Mother o' mine!
My heart in the chill of the world grows cold, Mother o' mine! But lives may run Ere your love be done, And the child I remember you still enfold In the passionate peace of your heart's warm hold - For ever for you I'm the child of old, Mother o' mine!
"M" is for the million things she gave me, "O" means only that she's growing old, "T" is for the tears she shed to save me, "H" is for her heart of purest gold; "E" is for her eyes, with love-light shining, "R" means right, and right she'll always be, Put them all together, they spell "MOTHER," A word that means the world to me. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
When God thought of mother,
When God thought of mother, He must have laughed with satisfaction, and framed it quickly - so rich, so deep, so divine, so full of soul, power, and beauty, was the conception. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Mother o' Mine
If I were hanged on the highest hill, Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine! I know whose love would follow me still, Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!
If I were drowned in the deepest sea, Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine! I know whose tears would come down to me, Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!
If I were damned of body and soul, I know whose prayers would make me whole, Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine! -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
To My Mother
Because I feel that, in the Heavens above, The angels, whispering to one another, Can find, among their burning terms of love, None so devotional as that of "Mother," Therefore by that dear name I long have called you- You who are more than mother unto me, And fill my heart of hearts, where Death installed you In setting my Virginia's spirit free. My mother-my own mother, who died early, Was but the mother of myself; but you Are mother to the one I loved so dearly, And thus are dearer than the mother I knew By that infinity with which my wife Was dearer to my soul than its soul-life. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sonnets are full of love, and this my tome
Sonnets are full of love, and this my tome Has many sonnets: so here now shall be One sonnet more, a love sonnet, from me To her whose heart is my heart's quiet home, To my first Love, my Mother, on whose knee I learnt love-lore that is not troublesome; Whose service is my special dignity, And she my load star while I go and come And so because you love me, and because I love you, Mother, I have woven a wreath Of rhymes wherewith to crown your honored name: In you not fourscore years can dim the flame Of love, whose blessed glow transcends the laws Of time and change and mortal life and death. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
To My Mother
You too, my mother, read my rhymes For love of unforgotten times, And you may chance to hear once more The little feet along the floor. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
To Mother
In the old Strauss waltz for the first time We had listened to your quiet call, Since then all the living things are alien And the knocking of the clock consoles.
We, like you, are gladly greeting sunsets, And are drunk on nearness of the end. All, with which on better nights we're wealthy Is put in the hearts by your own hand.
Bowing to a child's dreams with no tire. (Only crescent looked in them indeed Without you)! You have led your kids past Bitter lifetime of the thoughts and deeds.
From the early age the sad one's close to us, Laughter bores and home we left behind.. Our ship not in good times left the harbor And it sails by will of every wind!
Azure isle of childhood is paling, On the deck of ship we stand alone. It appears, oh mother, to your daughters You've left an inheritance of woe. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
To My Mother
And may you happy live, And long us bless; Receiving as you give Great happiness. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Hand That Rocks The Cradle
The Hand that rocks the Cradle Is The Hand That Rules The World Blessings on the hand of women! Angels guard its strength and grace, In the palace, cottage, hovel, Oh, no matter where the place; Would that never storms assailed it, Rainbows ever gently curled; For the hand that rocks the cradle Is the hand that rules the world.
Infancy's the tender fountain, Power may with beauty flow, Mother's first to guide the stream lets, From them souls uninteresting grow-- Grow on for the good or evil, Sunshine streamed or evil hurled; For the hand that rocks the cradle Is the hand that rules the world.
Woman, how divine your mission Here upon our natal sod! Keep, oh, keep the young heart open Always to the breath of God! All true trophies of the ages Are from mother-love pearled; For the hand that rocks the cradle Is the hand that rules the world.
Blessings on the hand of women! Fathers, sons, and daughters cry, And the sacred song is mingled With the worship in the sky-- Mingles where no tempest darkens, Rainbows evermore are hurled; For the hand that rocks the cradle Is the hand that rules the world. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Unfolded Out of the Folds
UNFOLDED out of the folds of the woman, man comes unfolded, and is always to come unfolded; Unfolded only out of the superbest woman of the earth, is to come the superbest man of the earth; Unfolded out of the friendliest woman, is to come the friendliest man; Unfolded only out of the perfect body of a woman, can a man be form's of perfect body; Unfolded only out of the inimitable poem of the woman, can come the poems of man-(only thence have my poems come;) Unfolded out of the strong and arrogant woman I love, only thence can appear the strong and arrogant man I love; Unfolded by brawny embraces from the well-muscled woman I love, only thence come the brawny embraces of the man; Unfolded out of the folds of the woman's brain, come all the folds of the man's brain, duly obedient; Unfolded out of the justice of the woman, all justice is unfolded; Unfolded out of the sympathy of the woman is all sympathy: A man is a great thing upon the earth, and through eternity - but every jot of the greatness of man is unfolded out of woman, First the man is shaped in the woman, he can then be shaped in himself. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Tribute to Mother
A picture memory brings to me; I look across the years and see Myself beside my mother's knee. I feel her gentle hand restrain My selfish moods, and know again A child's blind sense of wrong and pain. But wiser now, a man gray grown, My childhood's needs are better known. My mother's chastening love I own. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Heart of the Woman
O what to me my mother's care, The house where I was safe and warm; The shadowy blossom of my hair Will hide us from the bitter storm. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Player Queen
My mother dandled me and sang, 'How young it is, how young!' And made a golden cradle That on a willow swung.
'He went away,' my mother sang, 'When I was brought to bed,' And all the while her needle pulled The gold and silver thread.
She pulled the thread and bit the thread And made a golden gown, And wept because she had dream that I Was born to wear a crown.
'When she was got,' my mother sang, 'I heard a sea-mew cry, And saw a flake of the yellow foam That dropped upon my thigh.'
How therefore could she help but braid The gold into my hair, And dream that I should carry The golden top of care? ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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