THE sweetest face in all the world to me, Set in a frame of shining silver hair, With eyes whose language is fidelity; This is my mother. Is she not most fair? O mother! in the changeful years now flown, Since, as a child, I leant upon your knee, Life has not brought to me, nor fortune shown, Such tender love! such yearning sympathy! Let fortune smile or frown, whiche'er she will; It matters not, I scorn her fickle ways! I never shall be quite bereft until I lose my mother's honest blame and praise! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SOLACE by CLARISSA SCOTT DELANY GOLD-OF-OPHIR ROSES by GRACE ATHERTON DENNEN A LITTLE CHILD'S HYMN; FOR NIGHT AND MORNING by FRANCIS TURNER PALGRAVE THE BLACK VULTURE by GEORGE STERLING MY DEAREST WIFE by WILLIAM BARNES NO CONTINUING CITY by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |