Excerpt from Brother and Lover: A Woman's Story
I never shall forget the summer day
When mother died. If I but close my eyes
It all comes back to me, as, after dreams,
Remembrance of them haunts our waking hours.
I hear the low, soft twitter of the birds
Whose nest was hidden in the cherry tree
Beside the window, as they talked about
Their little brood. I hear the summer wind
Among the flowers in the garden beds, -
Sweet-smelling pinks, old-fashioned marigolds,
And lilies, each a cup at early morn,
Brimmed with cool dew for sunshine-elves to drink,
And after that a cradle for the bee,
Rocked by the wind. And I can hear the song
Of mowers in the valley, and the ring
Of sharpening scythes, and see the fragrant grass
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