'Tis April, yet the wind retains its tooth. I cannot venture in the biting air, But sit and feign wild trash, and dreams uncouth, "Stretched on the rack of a too easy chair." And when the day has howled itself to sleep, The lamp is lighted in my little room; And lowly, as the tender lapwings creep, Comes my own mother, with her love's perfume. O living sons with living mothers! learn Their worth, and use them gently, with no chiding; For youth, I know, is quick; of temper stern Sometimes; and apt to blunder without guiding. So was I long, but now I see her move, Transfigured in the radiant mist of love. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DUTY SURVIVING SELF-LOVE; THE ONLY SURE FRIEND OF DECLINING LIFE by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE A DECANTER OF MADEIRA, AGED 86, TO GEORGE BANCROFT, AGED 86 by SILAS WEIR MITCHELL HEAVEN by NANCY WOODBURY PRIEST GEORGE CRABBE by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON THE ORGAN GRINDER by RONALD WALKER BARR WARNING TO TROOPS by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN SUBJECT LOVE, FOR THE VASE AT BATHEASTON VILLA by JANE BOWDLER |