At last the dread-awaited hour has come When she must front blind pain's extremity; Go down alone to forge the wracking key Of life. Black depths are there to plumb And waves of agony that beat and numb. And near, the shade of cold mortality Lurks, jealous of a Power that can decree Another unit to the human sum. A soul! And clothed in vesture that she lent In labored hours. Thank God she had that part. Her own, @3own son!@1 . . . O love that bridges pain And gives its all, and giving, is not spent . . . For this dear helpless mite upon her heart She'd gladly brave that scorching path again. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NEVER TOO LATE: THE PALMER'S ODE by ROBERT GREENE WHEN ON THE MARGE OF EVENING by LOUISE IMOGEN GUINEY EPITAPHS OF THE WAR, 1914-18: BATTERIES OUT OF AMMUNITION by RUDYARD KIPLING THE SPIRIT'S WARFARE by WILLIAM BLAKE TO HARRY ELLIS WOOLDRIDGE by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES CARMINA: 85 by GAIUS VALERIUS CATULLUS THE LEGEND OF GOOD WOMEN: 8. THE LEGEND OF PHILLIS by GEOFFREY CHAUCER |