To My Mother.
By Thomas Moore
WRITTEN IN A POCKET BOOK, 1822. They tell us of an Indian tree, Which, howsoe'er the sun and sky May tempt its boughs to wander free, And shoot and blossom wide and high, Far better loves to bend its arms Downward again to that dear earth, From which the life that, fills and warms Its grateful being, first had birth. 'Tis thus, tho' wooed by flattering friends, And fed with fame (if fame it be) This heart, my own dear mother, bends, With love's true instinct, back to thee!
AI analysis available. Enable JavaScript to interact.
About this line
"WRITTEN IN A POCKET BOOK, 1822...."
"To My Mother." is a quintessential example of Thomas Moore's signature style... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...