Poems (Cary)/My Mother

For works with similar titles, see My Mother.

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MY MOTHER.
'T was in the autumn's dreary close, A long, long time ago:The berries of the brier-rose Hung bright above the snow,And night had spread a shadow wild About the earth and sky,When, calling me her orphan child, She said that she must die.
She rests within the quiet tomb, The narrow and the chill—The window of our cabin home Looks out upon the hill.Oh, when the world seems wild and wide, And friends to love me few,I think of how she lived and died, And gather strength anew.
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