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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=537792" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>On The Receipt Of My Mother's Picture Out Of Norfolk</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>'Grieve not, my child, chase all thy fears away!' <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 honor 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 wished 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 called the past'ral house our own. <br>Short-lived 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 scorned in Heav’n, though little noticed 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 vi'let, the pink, and jessamine,<br>I prick'd them into paper with a pin,<br>(And thou wast happier than myself the while,<br>Wouldst softly speak, and stroke my head, and smile,)<br>Could those few pleasant days 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>'Where tempests never beat nor billows roar;'<br>And thy lov'd consort on the dangerous tide<br>Of life long since has anchor'd by thy side.<br>But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest,<br>Always from port withheld, always distress'd,--<br>Me howling blasts drive devious, tempest-tost,<br>Sails ripp'd, 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>Yet 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 to have lived 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 show of thee,<br>Time has but half succeeded in his theft,--<br>Thyself remov'd, thy power to soothe 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=537792" data-title="On The Receipt Of My Mother's Picture Out Of Norfolk 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, 
'Grieve ..."></div>
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