Frances Ellen Watkins Harper

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.