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Because I
feel that, in the Heavens above,
The angels,
whispering to one another,
Can find, among their
burning terms of love,
None so devotional as that
of "Mother,"
Therefore by that dear name I long have
called you --
You who are more than mother unto
me,
And fill my heart of hearts, where Death
installed you
In setting my Virginia's spirit
free.
My mother -- my own mother, who died early,
Was but the mother of myself; but you
Are mother
to the one I loved so dearly,
And thus are dearer
than the mother I knew
By that infinity with which my
wife
Was dearer to my soul than its soul-life.
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