MOTHER whose womb brought forth our man of men, Mother of Shakespeare, whom all time acclaims Queen therefore, sovereign queen of English dames, Throned higher than sat thy sonless empress then, Was it thy son's young passion-guided pen Which drew, reflected from encircling flames, A figure marked by the earlier of thy names Wife, and from all her wedded kinswomen Marked by the sign of murderess? Pale and great, Great in her grief and sin, but in her death And anguish of her penitential breath Greater than all her sin or sin-born fate, She stands, the holocaust of dark desire, Clothed round with song forever as with fire. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON LINCOLN'S BIRTHDAY by JOHN KENDRICK BANGS THE GREAT ELM by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES THE BURIAL OF LOVE by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT OLD AND NEW; THE CENTURY ASSOCIATION, 1847-1897 by WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER AN ADMONITION AGAINST SWEARING, ADDRESSED TO AN OFFICER IN THE ARMY by JOHN BYROM |