Beloved, I who shall be mother soon br Need mothering myself this tired hour, br As heavily the sweet and precious power br Weighs on my heart till I am near to swoon. br Console me, soothe me, Dearest, with the boon br Of your firm strength, and little comforts shower br Soft on the drifting doubtings that devour br Patience and courage when the death-winds croon. br br You are your mother, Dear, as I am mine. br And, as we slumber to our souls’ caress, br Those two who panged for us and weeping smiled, br Draw near and bind us in a peace divine. br O mother me; all else is comfortless br As painted lips above a dying child.