"MOTHER, I read of heroes, kings, Of folk with trappings, folk with wings; Where live they, will they ever come To see me in my little home? @3Are@1 there such beings, fair and wise, And have they feet and hands and eyes?" "My child, you saw but yesterday A hero: when he came this way You gave him scarce a single glance; He wore no crown, he bore no lance, He seemed but made of common clay. "And just an hour ago, there stood Before you -- Oh, so great and good! One who will sit with God for aye, When the brief years are rolled away." "But, mother, in the books I read They walk with kings, they do indeed; How @3could@1 they come and go, and I Not know that they were passing by?" "The tales are true, my dear, there be Kings, heroes, saints, in history; Romance and legend fitly tell Of what they did, and what their spell; Their deeds are bright like burnished gold, In chronicles and records old." "How could I miss their being here?" "They did not seem like saints, my dear, Nor heroes, when they drew so near." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE INTRODUCTION by AL-DHAHABI EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 26. PLATONIC LOVE by PHILIP AYRES MALIGNED MORTALITY by WILLIAM ROSE BENET OVER THE ROSE-LEAVES, UNDER THE ROSE by JOHN BENNETT (1865-1956) PARLEYINGS WITH CERTAIN PEOPLE OF IMPORTANCE: FRANCIS FURINI by ROBERT BROWNING |