"FOOT-SORE, weary, o'er the hills To your friendly door I come. I'm a mother; in my breast I have wrapped my only son. Lady, blessed of the Three, Give us shelter for a night. Pure and wise they say thou art, Pity one by fate bedight." Calm and grave the maiden stood; Eyed that weary mother long, Drooping form, despairing face, Eyes pathetic with great wrong. "Enter," gently then she spake, "Peace be thine from skies above, Only I have closed my door, Closed and barred it fast from Love." By the hearthstone warm and bright Sits the mother crooning low; Ah! an arrow's silver gleam, Flashes of a golden bow! Soft she sways a dimpled child Winged with down, and innocent; "Hush thee, Eros, -- sleep, my son," Sings her voice in glad content. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...JUST A-RIDIN'! by ELWOOD ADAMS PIONEER WOMAN by EVA K. ANGLESBURG SONNET FROM JAPAN: 2. THE SHRINE OF THE PILGRIM SANDALS by ADELAIDE NICHOLS BAKER SIC SEMPER INSURANTIBUS by MORRIS GILBERT BISHOP MORNING STAR by IDA MAY BORNCAMP THE FUNERAL OF ANTONIO GIANNO by STIRLING BOWEN |