Love poems/ page 8 of 1285 /
O mother, darling mother, lost in time's formless haze
Amidst the leaves' sweet rustle you call my name always;
Amidst their fluttering murmur above your sacred grave
I hear you softly whisper whene'er the branches wave;
While o'er your tomb the willows their autumn raiment heap...
For ever wave the branches, and you for ever sleep.
Dear, why should you command me to my rest
When now the night doth summon all to sleep?
ABSENCE hear thou my protestation
Against thy strength
Distance and length:
Do what thou canst for alteration
For hearts of truest mettle 5
Absence doth join and Time doth settle.