C L. M.
TN the dark womb where 1 began
•*• My mother's life made me a man.
Through all the months of human birth
Her beauty fed my common earth.
I cannot see, nor breathe, nor stir, 5
But through the death of some of her.
Down in the darkness of the grave
She cannot see the life she gave.
For all her love, she cannot tell
Whether I use it ill or well, 10
Nor knock at dusty doors to find
Her beauty dusty in the mind.
If the grave's gates could be undone,
She would not know her little son,
I am so grown. If we should meet 15
She would pass by me in the street,
Unless my soul's face let her see
My sense of what she did for me.
What have I done to keep in mind
My debt to her and womankind? 20
What woman's happier life repays
Her for those months of wretched days ?
For all my mouthless body leeched
Ere Birth's releasing hell was reached?
What have I done, or tried, or said 25^
In thanks to that dear woman dead ? N
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