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Frances Ellen Watkins Harper (Фрэнсис Харпер) My Mother's Kiss My mother's kiss, my mother's kiss, I feel its impress now; As in the bright and happy days She pressed it on my brow. You say it is a fancied thing Within my memory fraught; To me it has a sacred place— The treasure house of thought. Again, I feel her fingers glide Amid my clustering hair; I see the love-light in her eyes, When all my life was fair. Again, I hear her gentle voice In warning or in love. How precious was the faith that taught My soul of things above. Frances Ellen Watkins Harper's other poems:
Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1284 |
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