The Verse-Book of a Homely Woman

To Mother

     I would that you should know,
     Dear mother, that I love you—love
          you so!
     That I remember other days and years;
     Remember childish joys and childish fears.
     And this, because my baby's little hand
     Opened my own heart's door and made
          me understand.

     I wonder how you could
     Be always kind and good!
     So quick to hear; to tend
     My smallest ills; to lend
     Such sympathising ears
     Swifter than ancient seer's.
     I never yet knew hands so soft and kind,
     Nor any cheek so smooth, nor any mind
     So full of tender thoughts. . . . Dear
          mother, now
     I think that I can guess a little how
     You must have looked for some response,
          some sign,
     That all my tiresome wayward heart was
          thine.

     And sure it was! You were my first dear
          love!
     You who first pointed me to God above;
     You who seemed hearkening to my lightest
          word,
     And in the dark night seasons always
          heard
     When I came trembling, knocking at your
          door.
     Forgive me, mother, if my whims outwore
     Your patient heart. Or if in later days
     I sought out foolish unfamiliar ways;
     If ever, mother dear, I loosed my hold
     Of your loved hand; or, headstrong,
          thought you cold,
     Forgive me, mother! Oh, forgive me,
          dear!
     I am come back at last—you see me
          here,
     Your loving child. . . . And, mother,
          on my knee
     I pray that thus my child may think of
          me!