Classic Poem

Lightly she slept, that splendid mother mine
Who faced death, undismayed, two hopeless years ...
( " Think of me sometimes, son, but not with tears
Lest my soul grieve, " she writes. Oh, this divine
Unselfishness!) ...
Her favourite print smiled down —
The stippled Cupid, Bartolozzi-brown —
Upon my sorrow. Fire-gleams, fitful, played
Among her playthings — Toby mugs and jade. . . .

And then I dreamed that — suddenly, strangely clear —
A voice I knew not, faltered at my ear:
" Courage! " ... Your own dear voice, loved since, and known!

And now that she sleeps well, come times her voice
Whispers in day-dreams: " Courage, son! Rejoice
That, leaving you, I left you not alone. "