Mother Poem by Sophia White

Amidst the roses and the lilies, a lily herself,
She stands.
And about her, the petaled ladies-in-waiting,
Whom she has sown and nurtured, only using
Her hands.

The petals follow her as a train, she wears a gown
Of white
Sewn by the spider-weavers, under the moon
And she steps to a wild highland tune
By night.

So fair stands this mortal Venus, amid her trellises
And stones.
The blossoms bow to her passing, the grass trembles
Beneath her tread. At her voice, the mountains rumble
Their bones.

Gentle, like a dove, and carrying the command of kings.
She sings.
Her eyes sing the song of the whippoorwhill, and she smiles,
Unperturbéd by the serpent’s wooing winks and guiles
Fair thing.

An Eve, a Psyche, as fair within as without,
And kind.
She walks in beauty, the untrodden ways, lovely is she.
If any mortal should miss her beauty, he must be
Sheer blind.

And when shall her glory fade? Ne’er, I tell thee true
For see:
‘So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life
To thee.’