Читать книгу Second Book of Verse - Field Eugene - Страница 7

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HOW fair you are, my mother!

Ah, though 't is many a year

Since you were here,

Still do I see your beauteous face,

And with the glow

Of your dark eyes cometh a grace

Of long ago.

So gentle, too, my mother!

Just as of old, upon my brow,

Like benedictions now,

Falleth your dear hand's touch;

And still, as then,

A voice that glads me over-much

Cometh again,

My fair and gentle mother!

How you have loved me, mother,

I have not power to tell,

Knowing full well

That even in the rest above

It is your will

To watch and guard me with your love,

Loving me still.

And, as of old, my mother,

I am content to be a child,

By mother's love beguiled

From all these other charms;

So to the last

Within thy dear, protecting arms

Hold thou me fast,

My guardian angel, mother!