William Butler Yeats

(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939 / County Dublin / Ireland)

The Song Of The Old Mother


I RISE in the dawn, and I kneel and blow
Till the seed of the fire flicker and glow;
And then I must scrub and bake and sweep
Till stars are beginning to blink and peep;
And the young lie long and dream in their bed
Of the matching of ribbons for bosom and head,
And their ~y goes over in idleness,
And they sigh if the wind but lift a tress:
While I must work because I am old,
And the seed of the fire gets feeble and cold.

Submitted: Thursday, May 17, 2001
Edited: Wednesday, December 17, 2014

Topic of this poem: mother


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