Classic Poem

So early lost, I cannot tell the lift
Of mother-arms! A toy or two, her gift;
A small white gown, her needle in its seam;
And, dim as is a dream within a dream,
A little figure at a shadow's feet,
Or walking hand in hand upon the street, —
A gentle shadow with an unseen face, —
No smile, no tone, no foot-fall mine for trace:
That is my unknown Mother!

Yet I know
The inmost currents of my being flow
From her high springs; the faiths that in me rise
Have once made happy lights within her eyes;

The gardens of my heart are seeded thick
With border-blooms that first in hers were quick;
My very thought of God is her bequest,
Sealed mine before I lay upon her breast!

O Mother, could an earthly smile suffice,
And these not serve me well to recognize?
Inwrought and deathless tokens pledge us joy
What day my Mother meets her grateful boy!