HERE, in her old work-basket-- Now that my mother's gone-- I find a thread of silver-- A single hair alone. Than filigree more slender; And yet that thread is strong To draw my heart and crush it, Till tears are all its song. I knew when her locks were golden, And here, night after night, Over this old work-basket, I saw them change to white. This little thread surviving, That tender mother gone!-- What wonder I am weeping As I sit here alone! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GETHSEMANE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE LAKE BOATS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS ON PLAYWRIGHT (1) by BEN JONSON SWITZERLAND AND ITALY by RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES MUTABILITY (2) by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY IDYLLS OF THE KING: THE COMING OF ARTHUR by ALFRED TENNYSON THE LAST MAN: RECOGNITION by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES ADDRESS SPOKEN AT THE OPENING OF THE DRURY-LANE THEATRE by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |