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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=537770" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>On Receipt Of My Mother's Picture</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh that those lips had language! Life has pass'd<br> With me but roughly since I heard thee last.<br> Those lips are thine--thy own sweet smiles I see,<br> The same that oft in childhood solaced me;<br> Voice only fails, else, how distinct they say,<br> &quot;Grieve not, my child, chase all thy fears away!&quot;<br> The meek intelligence of those dear eyes<br> (Blest be the art that can immortalize,<br> The art that baffles time's tyrannic claim<br> To quench it) here shines on me still the same.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Faithful remembrancer of one so dear,<br> Oh welcome guest, though unexpected, here!<br> Who bidd'st me honour with an artless song,<br> Affectionate, a mother lost so long,<br> I will obey, not willingly alone,<br> But gladly, as the precept were her own;<br> And, while that face renews my filial grief,<br> Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief--<br> Shall steep me in Elysian reverie,<br> A momentary dream, that thou art she.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> My mother! when I learn'd that thou wast dead,<br> Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed?<br> Hover'd thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son,<br> Wretch even then, life's journey just begun?<br> Perhaps thou gav'st me, though unseen, a kiss;<br> Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss--<br> Ah that maternal smile! it answers--Yes.<br> I heard the bell toll'd on thy burial day,<br> I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away,<br> And, turning from my nurs'ry window, drew<br> A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu!<br> But was it such?--It was.--Where thou art gone<br> Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown.<br> May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore,<br> The parting sound shall pass my lips no more!<br> Thy maidens griev'd themselves at my concern,<br> Oft gave me promise of a quick return.<br> What ardently I wish'd, I long believ'd,<br> And, disappointed still, was still deceiv'd;<br> By disappointment every day beguil'd,<br> Dupe of to-morrow even from a child.<br> Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went,<br> Till, all my stock of infant sorrow spent,<br> I learn'd at last submission to my lot;<br> But, though I less deplor'd thee, ne'er forgot.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Where once we dwelt our name is heard no more,<br> Children not thine have trod my nurs'ry floor;<br> And where the gard'ner Robin, day by day,<br> Drew me to school along the public way,<br> Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapt<br> In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet capt,<br> 'Tis now become a history little known,<br> That once we call'd the past'ral house our own.<br> Short-liv'd possession! but the record fair<br> That mem'ry keeps of all thy kindness there,<br> Still outlives many a storm that has effac'd<br> A thousand other themes less deeply trac'd.<br> Thy nightly visits to my chamber made,<br> That thou might'st know me safe and warmly laid;<br> Thy morning bounties ere I left my home,<br> The biscuit, or confectionary plum;<br> The fragrant waters on my cheeks bestow'd<br> By thy own hand, till fresh they shone and glow'd;<br> All this, and more endearing still than all,<br> Thy constant flow of love, that knew no fall,<br> Ne'er roughen'd by those cataracts and brakes<br> That humour interpos'd too often makes;<br> All this still legible in mem'ry's page,<br> And still to be so, to my latest age,<br> Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay<br> Such honours to thee as my numbers may;<br> Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere,<br> Not scorn'd in heav'n, though little notic'd here.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Could time, his flight revers'd, restore the hours,<br> When, playing with thy vesture's tissued flow'rs,<br> The violet, the pink, and jessamine,<br> I prick'd them into paper with a pin,<br> (And thou wast happier than myself the while,<br> Would'st softly speak, and stroke my head and smile)<br> Could those few pleasant hours again appear,<br> Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here?<br> I would not trust my heart--the dear delight<br> Seems so to be desir'd, perhaps I might.--<br> But no--what here we call our life is such,<br> So little to be lov'd, and thou so much,<br> That I should ill requite thee to constrain<br> Thy unbound spirit into bonds again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast<br> (The storms all weather'd and the ocean cross'd)<br> Shoots into port at some well-haven'd isle,<br> Where spices breathe and brighter seasons smile,<br> There sits quiescent on the floods that show<br> Her beauteous form reflected clear below,<br> While airs impregnated with incense play<br> Around her, fanning light her streamers gay;<br> So thou, with sails how swift! hast reach'd the shore<br> &quot;Where tempests never beat nor billows roar,&quot;<br> And thy lov'd consort on the dang'rous tide<br> Of life, long since, has anchor'd at thy side.<br> But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest,<br> Always from port withheld, always distress'd--<br> Me howling winds drive devious, tempest toss'd,<br> Sails ript, seams op'ning wide, and compass lost,<br> And day by day some current's thwarting force<br> Sets me more distant from a prosp'rous course.<br> But oh the thought, that thou art safe, and he!<br> That thought is joy, arrive what may to me.<br> My boast is not that I deduce my birth<br> From loins enthron'd, and rulers of the earth;<br> But higher far my proud pretensions rise--<br> The son of parents pass'd into the skies.<br> And now, farewell--time, unrevok'd, has run<br> His wonted course, yet what I wish'd is done.<br> By contemplation's help, not sought in vain,<br> I seem t' have liv'd my childhood o'er again;<br> To have renew'd the joys that once were mine,<br> Without the sin of violating thine:<br> And, while the wings of fancy still are free,<br> And I can view this mimic shew of thee,<br> Time has but half succeeded in his theft--<br> Thyself remov'd, thy power to sooth me left.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Cowper">William Cowper</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=537770" data-title="On Receipt Of My Mother's Picture de William Cowper" data-description="Oh that those lips had language! Life has pass'd
 With me but roughly since I heard thee last.
 Those lips are thine--thy own sweet smiles I see,
 The same that oft in childhood solaced me;
 Voice only fails, else, how distinct they say,
 &quot;Gr..."></div>
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