WRITTEN IN A POCKET BOOK, 1822.
They tell us of an Indian tree,
Which, howsoe'er the sun and sky
May tempt its boughs to wander free,
And shoot and blossom wide and high,
Far better loves to bend its arms
Downward again to that dear earth,
From which the life that, fills and warms
Its grateful being, first had birth.
'Tis thus, tho' wooed by flattering friends,
And fed with fame (if fame it be)
This heart, my own dear mother, bends,
With love's true instinct, back to thee!
To My Mother
Thomas Moore
(2)
Poem topics: birth, heart, life, mother, sky, sun, tree, earth, wide, true, book, high, instinct, indian, grateful, love, I love you, dear, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
Submit Spanish Translation
Submit German Translation
Submit French Translation
Write your comment about To My Mother poem by Thomas Moore
Shruti: Please tell synonym of praise in this poem
Best Poems of Thomas Moore