Poems (Taylor)/Death
DEATH
Mater Nostra
Mine is the kiss of motherhood. Why fear
The dusky regal splendour of my brows?
As some great queen of persecuted house
With many a lingering yearning kiss and tear
Confides to lowly arms her princeling dear,
Until the imperious martial music rouse
The land to memory of its ancient vows,—
With Life, thy foster-nurse, I hid thee here.
The dusky regal splendour of my brows?
As some great queen of persecuted house
With many a lingering yearning kiss and tear
Confides to lowly arms her princeling dear,
Until the imperious martial music rouse
The land to memory of its ancient vows,—
With Life, thy foster-nurse, I hid thee here.
Now would I wean thee softly from this Past
That wrongs the erstwhile playmate of the stars;
Forget those low dim hills, those pale pent skies.
Hail! thou hast heired the Infinite at last;
And kingly pleasures wait thee, kingly wars.—
Come, gather godhead from my nearer eyes.
That wrongs the erstwhile playmate of the stars;
Forget those low dim hills, those pale pent skies.
Hail! thou hast heired the Infinite at last;
And kingly pleasures wait thee, kingly wars.—
Come, gather godhead from my nearer eyes.