Frances Shaw

From “Songs”

MY mother twines me roses wet with dew;

Oft have I sought the garden through and through;

I cannot find the tree whereon

My mother’s roses grew.

Seek not, O child, the tree

Whereon thy mother’s roses grew.

My mother tells me tales of noble deeds;

Oft have I sought her book when no one heeds;

I cannot find the page, alas,

From which my mother reads.

Seek not, O child, to find the page

From which thy mother reads.

My mother croons me songs all soft and low,

Through the white night where little breezes blow;

Yet never when the morning dawns,

My mother’s songs I know.

Seek not, O child, at dawn of day

Thy mother’s songs to know.