My mother always kept so many Little things like these: Embroidery from pantalettes And trimming from chemise, A ruffle that had once adorned My great grandfather's breast, When shirts were stitched by hand and made With linen of the best. And looking at this hand-work now, In retrospect, it seems Something as dim and far away As half-forgotten dreams; And down the shadowy miles of years I journey till I see My mother, young and golden-haired, Just as she used to be, Untouched by time, with nimble hands That made each stitch so true, The mother who was mine, and yet The one I never knew. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON MAN by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR COMMEMORATIVE OF A NAVAL VICTORY by HERMAN MELVILLE SWITZERLAND AND ITALY by RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES THE KLONDIKE by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON TO THE ONE OF FICTIVE MUSIC by WALLACE STEVENS THE BURDEN OF A SIGH by LEVI BISHOP THE BLIND GIRL OF CASTEL-CUILLE by JACQUES BOE THE SERAPHIM by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING PARLEYINGS WITH CERTAIN PEOPLE OF IMPORTANCE: GERARD DE MANDEVILLE by ROBERT BROWNING |