LIKE a sick child that knoweth not His mother while she blesses, And droppeth on his burning brow The coolness of her kisses; And turns his fevered eyes around-- "My mother, where's my mother?" As if such tender words and looks Could come from any other. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE NEW APOCRYPHA: BUSINESS REVERSES by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE LAST WORD by MATTHEW ARNOLD YOUR HANDS by ANGELINA WELD GRIMKE TO BE CARVED ON A STONE AT THOOR BALLYLEE (1) by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS FAMILIAR EPISTLE TO A LITTLE BOY by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM THE CROSS TRIUMPHANT by HARRY HOWE BOGERT ON W.S. by CHARLES WILLIAM BRODRIBB |