<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=450376" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Mother</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here I lean over you, small son, sleeping<br>Warm in my arms,<br>And I con to my heart all your dew-fresh charms,<br>As you lie close, close in my hungry hold . . . <br>Your hair like a miser's dream of gold,<br>And the white rose of your face far fairer,<br>Finer, and rarer<br>Than all the flowers in the young year's keeping;<br>Over lips half parted your low breath creeping<br>Is sweeter than violets in April grasses;<br>Though your eyes are fast shut I can see their blue,<br>Splendid and soft as starshine in heaven,<br>With all the joyance and wisdom given<br>From the many souls who have stanchly striven<br>Through the dead years to be strong and true. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Those fine little feet in my worn hands holden . . . <br>Where will they tread ?<br>Valleys of shadow or heights dawn-red?<br>And those silken fingers, O, wee, white son,<br>What valorous deeds shall by them be done<br>In the future that yet so distant is seeming<br>To my fond dreaming?<br>What words all so musical and golden<br>With starry truth and poesy olden </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Shall those lips speak in the years on-coming?<br>O, child of mine, with waxen brow,<br>Surely your words of that dim to-morrow<br>Rapture and power and grace must borrow<br>From the poignant love and holy sorrow<br>Of the heart that shrines and cradles you now! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Some bitter day you will love another,<br>To her will bear<br>Love-gifts and woo her . . . then must I share<br>You and your tenderness! Now you are mine<br>From your feet to your hair so golden and fine,<br>And your crumpled finger-tips . . . mine completely,<br>Wholly and sweetly;<br>Mine with kisses deep to smother,<br>No one so near to you now as your mother!<br>Others may hear your words of beauty,<br>But your precious silence is mine alone;<br>Here in my arms I have enrolled you,<br>Away from the grasping world I fold you,<br>Flesh of my flesh and bone of my bone!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Lucy+Maud+Montgomery">Lucy Maud Montgomery</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=450376" data-title="The Mother de Lucy Maud Montgomery" data-description="Here I lean over you, small son, sleeping Warm in my arms, And I con to my heart all your dew-fresh charms, As you lie close, close in my hungry hold . . . Your hair like a miser's dream of gold, And the white rose of your face far fairer, Finer,..."></div> </div> </div>

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