Within the sacred portals of my heart, Where mortal eye can never gaze, -- Is enshrined above all else apart, -- The memory of my Mother's face. At eventide -- that quiet hour, When sun sinks low and day is o'er, -- I long for her, I feel her power, 'Tis then I open "Memory's Door." I am carried back to other days, Down the cycle of the years, When I could see my Mother's face Through smiles and not through tears. Through happy days -- through anxious days, In fancy, then, I wander; From room to room I fondly roam, Alone, these scenes to ponder. I see her dress, her shoes -- all worn, -- A token here and there, -- Her kitchen apron, slightly torn, -- Her book -- her vacant chair, -- Souvenirs, each one a key To "Memory's Shrine" -- this sacred place, -- They thrill my heart -- precious to me -- They bring to me my Mother's face. So sacred this -- her memory -- So infinitely dear, That only God, Himself, doth see The memories dwelling here. And though it be the early dawn, The noon or midnight hour, When yearns the heart for her -- now gone, For Mother's soothing power, -- I turn the key, pass through the door To this "Shrine" known to none other, -- Then, here, in "Memory's Room," once more, -- I see the face of "Mother." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WOONE SMILE MWORE by WILLIAM BARNES CLING TO THY MOTHER by GEORGE WASHINGTON BETHUNE THE CANON OF AUGHRIM by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT DON'T BE DOWN-HEARTED (A PHILOSOPHIC POME) by BERTON BRALEY GOLD HAIR; A STORY OF PORNIC by ROBERT BROWNING LIKE ONE I KNOW by NANCY CAMPBELL |