To My Mother

ONCE more the Christian festival is near,
    And I, for whom each day repeats all days
    Continuously in ecstasy of praise,
Love’s birthday lasting through the unending year,
Am dreaming how the spirit draws me sheer
    From farthest wandering in the illusive maze
    To that white centre whose creative blaze
Spun me aloft and sets me tremulous here.

And since all heaven is figured in my heart,
    As in a dewdrop ere it change and live
        There shines the glory of the eternal dome,
Mother, to you the showering meteors dart
    Of free affection, fancies fugitive,
        And flare, with increasing heat and splendour, home.

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