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Poem
October 7, 1850
Portage Sentinel
Ravenna, Portage County, Ohio
What is this article about?
A poignant elegy lamenting the death of the speaker's mother, describing how her absence haunts moments of joy, music, and illness, emphasizing irreplaceable maternal love.
Clipping
OCR Quality
95%
Excellent
Full Text
I miss thee, my mother: thy image is still
The deepest impressed on my heart;
And though that tablet so faithful, in death must be chill,
No line of that image depart.
Thou wert torn from my side when I treasured
thee most.
When my reason could measure thy worth;
I knew but too well that the idol I'd lost
Would be never replaced upon earth.
I miss thee, my mother, in circles of joy,
There I've mingled as gay as the rest;
For how slight is the touch that will serve to destroy
All the fairy web spun in my breast.
Some melody sweet may be floating around,
'Tis a ballad I learnt at thy knee;
Some strain may be played, and I shrink from the sound,
For my fingers oft woke it for thee.
I miss thee, my mother, when young health has fled,
And I sink in the languor of pain;
Where, where is the arm that once pillowed my head,
And the ear that once heard me complain?
Other hands may support, gentle accents may fall,
For the fond and the true are yet mine;
I've a blessing for each, I am grateful to all—
But, my mother, no love is like thine.
The deepest impressed on my heart;
And though that tablet so faithful, in death must be chill,
No line of that image depart.
Thou wert torn from my side when I treasured
thee most.
When my reason could measure thy worth;
I knew but too well that the idol I'd lost
Would be never replaced upon earth.
I miss thee, my mother, in circles of joy,
There I've mingled as gay as the rest;
For how slight is the touch that will serve to destroy
All the fairy web spun in my breast.
Some melody sweet may be floating around,
'Tis a ballad I learnt at thy knee;
Some strain may be played, and I shrink from the sound,
For my fingers oft woke it for thee.
I miss thee, my mother, when young health has fled,
And I sink in the languor of pain;
Where, where is the arm that once pillowed my head,
And the ear that once heard me complain?
Other hands may support, gentle accents may fall,
For the fond and the true are yet mine;
I've a blessing for each, I am grateful to all—
But, my mother, no love is like thine.
What sub-type of article is it?
Elegy
What themes does it cover?
Death Mourning
What keywords are associated?
Mother
Grief
Loss
Maternal Love
Death
Memory
Poem Details
Subject
Lament For Deceased Mother
Form / Style
Rhymed Quatrains
Key Lines
I Miss Thee, My Mother: Thy Image Is Still / The Deepest Impressed On My Heart;
But, My Mother, No Love Is Like Thine.