I LAY upon my mother's breast, In life, a single hour alone; Ah, I should be divinely blest Could I but hear her voice's tone. But in the grave by Death's hand hurled, Her love for me in her heart bearing, She left me lonely in the world, The world of sorrow, pain, despairing. My father blind, my mother dead, The joys of home lost evermore, When the child tears of longing shed, For folly scolded o'er and o'er, No doubt the beads that sparkling gleam Youth drained from Pleasure's cup o'erflowing, Yet my heart never ceased to dream Of happiness all radiant glowing. E'en though I were the prodigal, And had my wealth with others squandered, I still would hear a sweet voice call And turn my steps repentant homeward, Would fall before my father's feet, Then, humbly to my mother kneeling, My home again with rapture greet, Feeling their kiss my pardon sealing. Now, like a leaf borne on the wind, Amid the world's dense concourse straying, There's not a single soul I find For me, old bachelor, love displaying. Who'll bring my sore heart comfort now? Why hath not Friendship my hands taken? Oh, Mother dear, why, why hast thou So early thy poor child forsaken? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE EARLY MORNING by HILAIRE BELLOC THE SUGAR-PLUM TREE by EUGENE FIELD TO THE MEMORY OF MY BELOVED MASTER WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE by BEN JONSON LILIES: 23. FINALLY ALONE by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) THE AUTHOR OF 'THE GREAT ILLUSION' by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |