To Mother

I would that you should know,
Dear mother, that I love you -- love
you so!
That I remember other days and years;
Remember childish joys and childish fears.
And this, because my baby's little hand
Opened my own heart's door and made
me understand.

I wonder how you could
Be always kind and good!
So quick to hear; to tend
My smallest ills; to lend
Such sympathising ears
Swifter than ancient seer's.
I never yet knew hands so soft and kind,
Nor any cheek so smooth, nor any mind
So full of tender thoughts. . . . Dear
mother, now
I think that I can guess a little how
You must have looked for some response,
some sign,
That all my tiresome wayward heart was
thine.