Louisa Stuart Costello

(1799-1870 / France)

To my Mother


Yes, I have sung of others' woes,
Until they almost seem'd mine own,
And fancy oft will scenes disclose
Whose being was in thought alone:

Her magic power I've cherished long,
And yielded to her soothing sway;
Enchanting is her syren song,
And wild and wond'rous is her way.

But thou—whene'er I think on thee,
Those glittering visions fade away;
My soul awakens, how tenderly!
To pleasures that can ne'er decay.

There's not an hour of life goes by
But makes thee still more firmly dear;
My sighs attend upon thy sigh,
My sorrows wait upon thy tear:

For earth has nought so good, so pure,
That may compare with love like thine—
Long as existence shall endure,
Thy star of guiding love shall shine!

O'er other stars dark clouds may lower,
And from our path their light may sever—
They lived to bless us but an hour,
But thine shall live to bless us ever!

Submitted: Thursday, January 01, 2004

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