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Her spirit is the spirit of repose。
Mankind shall hold her motherhood in awe：
Woman is she indeed； and not of those
That he with sacramental gold must draw
Discreetly to his chamber in the night；
Or bind to him with fetters of the law。
He holds her by a spiritual right。
With diamond and with pearl he need not sue；
Nor will she deck herself for his delight：
Beauty is the adornment of the true。
She shall possess for ornament and gem
A flower； the glowworm； or the drop of dew：
More innocently fair than all of them；
It will not even shame her if she make
A coronal of stars her diadem。
Though she is but a vision； I can take
Courage from her。 I feel her arrowy beam
Already； for her spirit is awake；
And passes down the future like a gleam； …
Thus have I made the woman of my dream。
Harold Monro ＇1879…1932＇
THE SHEPHERDESS
She walks … the lady of my delight …
A shepherdess of sheep。
Her flocks are thoughts。 She keeps them white；
She guards them from the steep。
She feeds them on the fragrant height；
And folds them in for sleep。
She roams maternal hills and bright；
Dark valleys safe and deep。
Into that tender breast at night
The chastest stars may peep。
She walks … the lady of my delight …
A shepherdess of sheep。
She holds her little thoughts in sight；
Though gay they run and leap。
She is so circumspect and right；
She has her soul to keep。
She walks … the lady of my delight …
A shepherdess of sheep。
Alice Meynell ＇1853…1922＇
A PORTRAIT
Mother and maid and soldier； bearing best
Her girl's lithe body under matron gray；
And opening new eyes on each new day
With faith concealed and courage unconfessed；
Jealous to cloak a blessing in a jest；
Clothe beauty carefully in disarray；
And love absurdly； that no word betray
The worship all her deeds make manifest：
Armored in smiles； a motley Britomart …
Her lance is high adventure； tipped with scorn；
Her banner to the suns and winds unfurled；
Washed white with laughter； and beneath her heart；
Shrined in a garland of laborious thorn；
Blooms the unchanging Rose of all the World。
Brian Hooker ＇1880…
THE WIFE
The little Dreams of Maidenhood …
I put them all away
As tenderly as mother would
The toys of yesterday；
When little children grow to men
Too over…wise for play。
The little dreams I put aside …
I loved them every one；
And yet since moon…blown buds must hide
Before the noon…day sun；
I close them wistfully away
And give the key to none。
O little Dreams of Maidenhood …
Lie quietly； nor care
If some day in an idle mood
I； searching unaware
Through some closed corner of my heart；
Should laugh to find you there。
Theodosia Garrison ＇1874…
〃TRUSTY； DUSKY； VIVID； TRUE〃
Trusty； dusky； vivid； true；
With eyes of gold and bramble…dew；
Steel true and blade straight
The great Artificer made my mate。
Honor； anger； valor； fire；
A love that life could never tire；
Death quench； or evil stir；
The mighty Master gave to her。
Teacher； tender comrade； wife；
A fellow…farer true through life；
Heart…whole and soul…free；
The August Father gave to me。
Robert Louis Stevenson ＇1850…1894＇
THE SHRINE
There is a shrine whose golden gate
Was opened by the Hand of God；
It stands serene； inviolate；
Though millions have its pavement trod；
As fresh； as when the first sunrise
Awoke the lark in Paradise。
'Tis compassed with the dust and toil
Of common days； yet should there fall
A single speck； a single soil
Upon the whiteness of its wall；
The angels' tears in tender rain
Would make the temple theirs again。
Without； the world is tired and old；
But； once within the enchanted door；
The mists of time are backward rolled；
And creeds and ages are no more；
But all the human…hearted meet
In one communion vast and sweet。
I enter … all is simply fair；
Nor incense…clouds； nor carven throne；
But in the fragrant morning air
A gentle lady sits alone；
My mother … ah！ whom should I see
Within； save ever only thee？
Digby Mackworth Dolben ＇1848…1867＇
THE VOICE
As I went down the hill I heard
The laughter of the countryside；
For； rain being past； the whole land stirred
With new emotion； like a bride。
I scarce had left the grassy lane；
When something made me catch my breath：
A woman called； and called again；
Elizabeth！ Elizabeth！
It was my mother's name。 A part
Of wounded memory sprang to tears；
And the few violets of my heart
Shook in the wind of happier years。
Quicker than magic came the face
That once was sun and moon for me；
The garden shawl； the cap of lace；
The collie's head against her knee。
Mother； who findest out a way
To pass the sentinels； and stand
Behind my chair at close of day；
To touch me … almost … with thy hand；
Deep in my breast； how sure； how clear；
The lamp of love burns on till death！ …
How trembles if I chance to hear
Elizabeth！ Elizabeth！
Norman Gale ＇1862…
MOTHER
I have praised many loved ones in my song；
And yet I stand
Before her shrine； to whom all things belong；
With empty hand。
Perhaps the ripening future holds a time
For things unsaid；
Not now； men do not celebrate in rhyme
Their daily bread。
Theresa Helburn ＇1888…
AD MATREM
Oft in the after days； when thou and I
Have fallen from the scope of human view；
When； both together； under the sweet sky；
We sleep beneath the daisies and the dew；
Men will recall thy gracious presence bland；
Conning the pictured sweetness of thy face；
Will pore o'er paintings by thy plastic hand；
And vaunt thy skill and tell thy deeds of grace。
Oh； may they then； who crown thee with true bays；
Saying； 〃What love unto her son she bore！〃
Make this addition to thy perfect praise；
〃Nor ever yet was mother worshipped more！〃
So shall I live with Thee； and thy dear fame
Shall link my love unto thine honored name。
Julian Fane ＇1827…1870＇
C。 L。 M。
In the dark womb where I began；
My mother's life made me a man。
Through all the months of human birth
Her beauty fed my common earth。
I cannot see； nor breathe； nor stir；
But through the death of some of her。
Down in the darkness of the grave
She cannot see the life she gave。
For all her love； she cannot tell
Whether I use it ill or well；
Nor knock at dusty doors to find
Her beauty dusty in the mind。
If the grave's gates could be undone；
She would not know her little son；
I am so grown。 If we should meet；
She would pass by me in the street；
Unless my soul's face let her see
My sense of what she did for me。
What have I done to keep in mind
My debt to her and womankind？
What woman's happier life repays
Her for those months of wretched days？
For all my mouthless body leech