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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=364111" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Monologue of a Mother</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">This is the last of all, this is the last!<br>I must hold my hands, and turn my face to the fire, <br>I must watch my dead days fusing together in dross, <br>Shape after shape, and scene after scene from my past<br>Fusing to one dead mass in the sinking fire<br>Where the ash on the dying coals grows swiftly, like heavy moss.<br> <br>Strange he is, my son, whom I have awaited like a loyer,<br>Strange to me like a captive in a foreign country, haunting<br>The confines and gazing out on the land where the wind is free;<br>White and gaunt, with wistful eyes that hover<br>Always on the distance, as if his soul were chaunting <br>The monotonous weird of departure away from me. <br> <br>Like a strange white bird blown out of the frozen seas,<br>Like a bird from the far north blown with a broken wing<br>Into our sooty garden, he drags and beats<br>From place to place perpetually, seeking release <br>From me, from the hand of my love which creeps up, needing<br>His happiness, whilst he in displeasure retreats. <br> <br>I must look away from him, for my faded eyes <br>Like a cringing dog at his heels offend him now,<br>Like a toothless hound pursuing him with my will,<br>Till he chafes at my crouching persistence, and a sharp spark flies<br>In my soul from under the sudden frown of his brow,<br>As he blenches and turns away, and my heart stands still.<br> <br>This is the last, it will not be any more.<br>All my life I have borne the burden of myself, <br>All the long years of sitting in my husband’s house, <br>Never have I said to myself as he closed the door: <br>“Now I am caught!—You are hopelessly lost, O Self, <br>You are frightened with joy, my heart, like a frightened mouse.”<br> <br>Three times have I offered myself, three times rejected. <br>It will not be any more. No more, my son, my son! <br>Never to know the glad freedom of obedience, since long ago<br>The angel of childhood kissed me and went. I expected<br>Another would take me,—and now, my son, O my son,<br>I must sit awhile and wait, and never know <br>The loss of myself, till death comes, who cannot fail. <br> <br>Death, in whose service is nothing of gladness, takes me:<br>For the lips and the eyes of God are behind a veil. <br>And the thought of the lipless voice of the Father shakes me<br>With fear, and fills my eyes with the tears of desire, <br>And my heart rebels with anguish as night draws nigher.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=David+Herbert+Lawrence">David Herbert Lawrence</a><div class=q>
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<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=364111" data-title="Monologue of a Mother de David Herbert Lawrence" data-description="This is the last of all, this is the last!
I must hold my hands, and turn my face to the fire, 
I must watch my dead days fusing together in dross, 
Shape after shape, and scene after scene from my past
Fusing to one dead mass in the sinking fire
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