Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=348540" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>In Memoriam Matris</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">IN my hot youth I rashly penned<br>A Sonnet of the After-life.<br>It was the time of stress and strife<br>Through which the ardent soul must wend.<br>It was the Spring-time of my days,<br>When Doubt, like an inspired sage,<br>With creeds did eager warfare wage,<br>And looked with scorn on ancient ways.<br>But gazing back across the years<br>That separate my youth from me,<br>These words and thoughts now seem to be<br>All dim, as through a mist of tears.<br>For then I saw, with eager eyes,<br>A coming world where joy would reign,<br>And evil pass away, and pain,<br>When man was rid of priestly ties.<br>While now I turn a backward gaze<br>On visions fled, and vanished hours,<br>On dead dry leaves and perished flow'rs,<br>That make the story of my days.<br>And midway on that dreary track<br>I see a grave-stone, standing white —<br>Far off. I see it in the night;<br>It says, “Thy mother comes not back.”<br>We brought her from the Austral land,<br>To this the land that gave her birth;<br>We laid her cold, in English earth,<br>My sire and I — and now we stand,<br>Like aliens, on a dreary shore,<br>Though once he fondly called it “Home.”<br>Now, old and mateless, he would roam<br>Back to that southern land once more.<br>For there her spirit seems to be,<br>There lie her babes beneath the sod;<br>And there, but for the hand of God,<br>Her grandchild would have climbed her knee.<br>* * * * *<br>These verses of the heedless Past,<br>They echo not my saddened thought,<br>— I held that after death came nought:<br>The earth was not then on her cast.<br>Denial now is dumb within,<br>Without I can but grope my way,<br>And trust that in some brighter day<br>Man's soul shall live — absolved of sin.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Arthur+Patchett+Martin">Arthur Patchett Martin</a><div class=q>
<img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share">
<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=348540" data-title="In Memoriam Matris de Arthur Patchett Martin" data-description="IN my hot youth I rashly penned
A Sonnet of the After-life.
It was the time of stress and strife
Through which the ardent soul must wend.
It was the Spring-time of my days,
When Doubt, like an inspired sage,
With creeds did eager warfare wage,
And..."></div>
</div>
</div>