10 Poems for Mother's Day
Mothers play an amazing role in almost every persons life. Not surprisingly, this has led to a countless number of incredible poetry being written about them. Here are just a few great poems for Mother's Day. Actually, since moms (or mums to you British English speakers), are so important to us, you should tell her how great she is every day of the year!
Below are ten hand-picked poems for all the special women out there. Print them, share them, post them on Facebook. Do whatever you can. And if you can't, be sure to at least tell her you love her.
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To My Mother
Because I feel that, in the Heavens above, The angels, whispering to one another, Can find, among their burning terms of love, None so devotional as that of "Mother," Therefore by that dear name I long have called you- You who are more than mother unto me, And fill my heart of hearts, where Death installed you, In setting my Virginia's spirit free. My mother—my own mother, who died early, Was but the mother of myself; but you Are mother to the one I loved so dearly, And thus are dearer than the mother I knew by that infinity with which my wife Was dearer to my soul than its soul-life. by Edgar Allan Poe, addressed to his mother-in-law
Sonnets are full of love
Sonnets are full of love, and this my tome Has many sonnets: so here now shall be One sonnet more, a love sonnet, from me To her whose heart is my heart's quiet home, To my first Love, my Mother, on whose knee I learnt love-lore that is not troublesome; Whose service is my special dignity, And she my loadstar while I go and come And so because you love me, and because I love you, Mother, I have woven a wreath Of rhymes wherewith to crown your honored name: In you not fourscore years can dim the flame Of love, whose blessed glow transcends the laws Of time and change and mortal life and death. by Christina Rossetti
To My Mother
To-day's your natal day, Sweet flowers I bring; Mother, accept, I pray, My offering. And may you happy live, And long us bless; Receiving as you give Great happiness. by Christina Rossetti, her first poem
"M" is for the million things she gave me, "O" means only that she's growing old, "T" is for the tears she shed to save me, "H" is for her heart of purest gold; "E" is for her eyes, with love-light shining, "R" means right, and right she'll always be, Put them all together, they spell "MOTHER," A word that means the world to me. by Howard Johnson
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Tribute to Mother
A picture memory brings to me; I look across the years and see Myself beside my mother's knee. I feel her gentle hand restrain My selfish moods, and know again A child's blind sense of wrong and pain. But wiser now, a man gray grown, My childhood's needs are better known. My mother's chastening love I own. by John Greenleaf Whittier
Who fed me from her gentle breast And hushed me in her arms to rest, And on my cheek sweet kisses prest? My mother. When sleep forsook my open eye, Who was it sung sweet lullaby And rocked me that I should not cry? My mother. Who sat and watched my infant head When sleeping in my cradle bed, And tears of sweet affection shed? My mother. When pain and sickness made me cry, Who gazed upon my heavy eye And wept, for fear that I should die? My mother. Who ran to help me when I fell And would some pretty story tell, Or kiss the part to make it well? My mother. Who taught my infant lips to pray, To love God's holy word and day, And walk in wisdom's pleasant way? My mother. And can I ever cease to be Affectionate and kind to thee Who wast so very kind to me,- My mother Oh no, the thought I cannot bear; And if God please my life to spare I hope I shall reward thy care, My mother. When thou art feeble, old and gray, My healthy arm shall be thy stay, And I will soothe thy pains away, My mother Ans when I see thee hang thy head, 'Twill be my turn to watch thy bed, And tears of sweet affection shed,- My mother. by Jane Taylor
The bravest battle that ever was fought! Shall I tell you where and when? On the maps of the world you will find it not; 'Twas fought by the mothers of men. Nay not with the cannon of battle-shot, With a sword or noble pen; Nay, not with eloquent words or thought From mouth of wonderful men! But deep in a walled-up woman's heart -- Of a woman that would not yield, But bravely, silently bore her part -- Lo, there is the battlefield! No marshalling troops, no bivouac song, No banner to gleam and wave; But oh! those battles, they last so long -- From babyhood to the grave. Yet, faithful still as a bridge of stars, She fights in her walled-up town -- Fights on and on in her endless wars Then silent, unseen, goes down. Oh, ye with banners and battle-shot, And soldiers to shout and paise! I tell you the kingliest victories fought Were fought in those silent ways. O spotless woman in a world of shame, With splendid and silent scorn, Go back to God as white as you came -- The Kingliest warrior born! by Joaquin Miller
God made a wonderful mother, A mother who never grows old; He made her smile of the sunshine, And He moulded her heart of pure gold; In her eyes He placed bright shining stars, In her cheeks fair roses you see; God made a wonderful mother, And He gave that dear mother to me. by Pat O'Reilly
Before the Birth of One of Her Children
All things within this fading world hath end, Adversity doth still our joys attend; No ties so strong, no friends so dear and sweet, But with death's parting blow are sure to meet. The sentence past is most irrevocable, A common thing, yet oh, inevitable. How soon, my Dear, death may my steps attend, How soon't may be thy lot to lose thy friend, We both are ignorant, yet love bids me These farewell lines to recommend to thee, That when the knot's untied that made us one, I may seem thine, who in effect am none. And if I see not half my days that's due, What nature would, God grant to yours and you; The many faults that well you know I have Let be interred in my oblivious grave; If any worth or virtue were in me, Let that live freshly in thy memory And when thou feel'st no grief, as I no harmes, Yet love thy dead, who long lay in thine arms, And when thy loss shall be repaid with gains Look to my little babes, my dear remains. And if thou love thyself, or loved'st me, These O protect from stepdame's injury. And if chance to thine eyes shall bring this verse, With some sad sighs honor my absent hearse; And kiss this paper for thy dear love's sake, Who with salt tears this last farewell did take. by Anne Bradstreet
Mother o' Mine
If I were hanged on the highest hill, Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine I know whose love would follow me still, Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine! If I were drowned in the deepest sea, Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine I know whose tears would come down to me, Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine! If I were damned of body and soul, I know whose prayers would make me whole, Mother o' mine, 0 mother o' mine! by Rudyard Kipling