My mother rose from her chilly bed Softly at star-sweet dawn; Nor tarried for meat but swiftly stepped Over the sill and was gone. She left her slippers side by side Beneath her sleep-tossed bed, Her robe still folded at the foot, Her pillow crushed at the head. Across the dew-wet grass she sped With never a farewell word; Her steps were fleet, her face alight At the summons she had heard. Unfettered, with youthful eagerness She trod day's whitening track, A glowing, vanishing Morning Star ... I would not call her back! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BALLAD OF THE WOMEN OF PARIS by FRANCOIS VILLON LAURENCE BLOOMFIELD IN IRELAND: 9. GOING TO THE FAIR by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM PASSED BY by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS THE CAUTIOUS HOUSEHOLDER by ANAXILAS TWO SONNETS FROM NEW YORK: QUESTIONS by ADELAIDE NICHOLS BAKER PARADISE LOST by BERTON BRALEY THE CHRISTENING by AMY SHERMAN BRIDGMAN |