My mother rose from her chilly bed Softly at star-sweet dawn; Nor tarried for meat but swiftly stepped Over the sill and was gone. She left her slippers side by side Beneath her sleep-tossed bed, Her robe still folded at the foot, Her pillow crushed at the head. Across the dew-wet grass she sped With never a farewell word; Her steps were fleet, her face alight At the summons she had heard. Unfettered, with youthful eagerness She trod day's whitening track, A glowing, vanishing Morning Star ... I would not call her back! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ISAIAH, JEREMIAH, EXEKIEL, DANIEL by MARIANNE MOORE MILES KEOGH'S HORSE by JOHN MILTON HAY THE PHANTOM SHIP by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE SEASONS: A HYMN by JAMES THOMSON (1700-1748) SONNET WRITTEN IN THE FALL OF 1914: 1 by GEORGE EDWARD WOODBERRY |