COME to me, O my Mother! come to me, Thine own son slowly dying far away! Through the moist ways of the wide ocean, blown By great invisible winds, come stately ships To this calm bay for quiet anchorage; They come, they rest awhile, they go away, But, O my Mother, never comest thou! The snow is round thy dwelling, the white snow, That cold soft revelation pure as light, And the pine-spur is mystically fringed, Laced with incrusted silver. Here--ah me!-- The winter is decrepit, underborn, A leper with no power but his disease. Why am I from thee, Mother, far from thee? Far from the frost enchantment, and the woods Jewelled from bough to bough? O home, my home! O river in the valley of my home, With mazy-winding motion intricate, Twisting thy deathless music underneath The polished ice-work,--must I nevermore Behold thee with familiar eyes, and watch Thy beauty changing with the changeful day, Thy beauty constant to the constant change? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GREEK SONG: 1. THE STORM OF DELPHI by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS EPITAPH ON HIMSELF by MATTHEW PRIOR THE MORAL FABLES: THE LION AND THE MOUSE by AESOP LILIES: 19. 'WHEN YOU THOUGHT I WAS 'FAR AWAY,' I WAS DREAMING by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) VALUES by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE MAXIMS FOR THE OLD HOUSE: THE CHAMBER by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH |