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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=413334" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Mother's Soul</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">When the moon was horned the mother died,<br> And the child pulled at her hand and knee, <br>And he rubbed her cheek and loudly cried:<br> 'O mother, arise, give bread to me!' <br> But the pine tree bent its head, <br> And the wind at the door-post said: <br> 'O child, thy mother is dead !' <br>The sun set his loom to weave the day;<br> The frost bit sharp like a silent cur;<br>The child by her pillow paused in his play:<br> 'Mother, build up the sweet fire of fir !' <br> But the fir tree shook its cones, <br> And loud cried the pitiful stones: <br> 'Wolf Death has thy mother's bones!' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">They bore the mother out on her bier;<br> Their tears made warm her breast and shroud;<br>The smiling child at her head stood near;<br> And the long, white tapers shook and bowed, <br> And said with their tongues of gold, <br> To the ice lumps of the grave mold: <br> 'How heavy are ye and cold!' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">They buried the mother; to the feast<br> They flocked with the beaks of unclean crows.<br>The wind came up from the red-eyed east<br> And bore in its arms the chill, soft snows. <br> They said to each other: 'Sere <br> Are the hearts the mother held dear; <br> Forgotten, her babe plays here!' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The child with the tender snowflakes played,<br> And the wind on its fingers twined his hair; <br>And still by the tall, brown grave he stayed,<br> Alone in the churchyard lean and bare. <br> The sods on the high grave cried <br> To the mother's white breast inside: <br> 'Lie still; in thy deep rest bide!' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her breast lay still like a long-chilled stone,<br> Her soul was out on the bleak, grey day; <br>She saw her child by the grave alone,<br> With the sods and snow and wind at play. <br> Said the sharp lips of the rush, <br> 'Red as thy roses,O bush, <br> With anger the dead can blush !' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">A butterfly to the child's breast flew,* <br> Fluttered its wings on his sweet, round cheek, <br>Danced by his fingers, small, cold and blue.<br> The sun strode down past the mountain peak. <br> The butterfly whispered low <br> To the child: 'Babe, follow me; know, <br> Cold is the earth here below.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The butterfly flew; followed the child,<br> Lured by the snowy torch of its wings; <br>The wind sighed after them soft and wild<br> Till the stars wedded night with golden rings <br> Till the frost upreared its head, <br> And the ground to it groaned and said: <br> 'The feet of the child are lead!' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The child's head drooped to the brown, sere mold,<br> On the crackling cones his white breast lay; <br>The butterfly touched the locks of gold,<br> The soul of the child sprang from its clay. <br> The moon to the pine tree stole,<br> And silver-lipped, said to its bole: <br> 'How strong is the mother's soul !' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The wings of the butterfly grew out<br> To the mother's arms, long, soft and white; <br>She folded them warm her babe about,<br> She kissed his lips into berries bright, <br> She warmed his soul on her breast; <br> And the east called out to the west: <br> 'Now the mother's soul will rest!' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Under the roof where the burial feast<br> Was heavy with meat and red with wine, <br>Each crossed himself as out of the east<br> A strange wind swept over oak and pine. <br> The trees to the home-roof said: <br> ' 'Tis but the airy rush and tread <br> Of angels greeting thy dead.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Isabella+Valancy+Crawford">Isabella Valancy Crawford</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=413334" data-title="The Mother's Soul de Isabella Valancy Crawford" data-description="When the moon was horned the mother died,
 And the child pulled at her hand and knee, 
And he rubbed her cheek and loudly cried:
 'O mother, arise, give bread to me!' 
 But the pine tree bent its head, 
 And the wind at the door-post said: 
 'O ch..."></div>
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