These verses, these rough records of my youth, Its moods, its thoughts, its joys; this diary brief -- For so it might be called -- of the inner life; I dedicate to her whose loving eyes Are still, as in my childhood's days, the stars Which rule my heart: to her, my mother: songs Which she has praised have not been sung in vain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...COVERING WINGS by KATHERINE MANSFIELD I MAY, I MIGHT, I MUST by MARIANNE MOORE THE MEASURE OF THE YEAR by JAMES GALVIN COSMOPOLITE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON HEGIRA by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |