My mother! look not on me now With that sad earnest eye; Blame me not, mother, blame not thou My heart's last wish -- to die! I cannot wrestle with the strife I once had heart to bear; And if I yield a youthful life, Full hath it been of care. Nay, weep not! on my brow is set The age of grief -- not years; Its furrows thou may'st wildly wet, But ne'er wash out with tears. And couldst thou see my weary heart, Too weary e'en to sigh, Oh! mother, mother! thou wouldst start, And say, "'T were best to die!" I know 't is summer on the earth -- I hear a pleasant tune Of waters in their chiming mirth -- I feel the breath of June: The roses through my lattice look, The bee goes singing by, The peasant takes his harvest-hook, -- Yet, mother, let me die! There's nothing in this time of flowers That hath a voice for me: The whispering leaves, the sunny hours, The bright, the glad, the free! There's nothing but thy own deep love, And that will live on high! Then, mother, when my heart's above, Kind mother, let me die! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AN EXPATIATION ON THE COMBINING OF WEATHERS AT THIRTY .... by HAYDEN CARRUTH AFTER THE PAPAGO by JAMES GALVIN THE UNCERTAINTY PRINCIPLE by JAMES GALVIN TO HENRY LINCOLN JOHNSON - LAWYER by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |