I have heard my mother, as long as I remember, Tell of upper chambers, where beauty never dies; Chambers lying starward; and from there returning, Visions of dim terraces lingered in her eyes. "Whatever you may need is in the upper chambers; You will find your way there," she used to repeat. I could never see them, the steps by which she mounted, But I knew the stairway was near my mother's feet. Once we were hungry and we had nothing: "Only be patient; keep heart," she said. To some high altar she climbed, and after, She broke for us white wheat bread. Once in a fever I felt my mother lift me Up, up, and up; the way seemed long and steep. Slowly, steadily, she bore me without resting Into a shadowy place of cool, healing sleep. Once, all alone, I felt the fever burning; Trustfully adventuring, I reached the stairway; then -- Oh, the friendly darkness! -- my hand out before me Found a cup of water that made me cool again. Afterward, older, I climbed to magic chambers; Moved about them wondering, touching things unseen. Once my curious fingers found a jar of alabaster, -- Treasure broken long ago, -- whole as it had been. I could look downward and see the world below me, But as in a mirror with its shallow deeps; Men and women threatening -- as marble figures threaten; Men and women weeping -- as a painted figure weeps. It was so still there. My mother had taught me, "Only in silence can thought be heard. Silence listens . . . and silence answers." (Down through that silence she has sent me word.) Shadows hung over all; but she had told me, "Light grows slowly, as we know the place, Softer, brighter, than light though rose leaves." (I have seen it since -- far off -- that light upon her face.) Death did not startle her; she went so quietly Up past his following. Still she is there, Housed with vanished beauty, and beauty yet in star-dust, In the upper chambers. I grope on the stair. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DR. SCUDDER'S CLINICAL LECTURE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE DUNES OF INDIANA by EDGAR LEE MASTERS NOTHING WILL CURE THE SICK LION BUT TO EAT AN APE' by MARIANNE MOORE SIXTEEN MONTHS by CARL SANDBURG |