Her Dead Son

God gives so much; He gives in great and small;
Our mothers, and the pool cupped in the grass;
Lovers, the young moon pricking through the glass;
We are not worth it; we give scarce at all.
God gave my son; right well do I know now
I was not worth him, nor was worth of yore
My mother, the bright water at the door;
The lad's height was a planet, mine a bough.
My slow heart turns this matter to and fro:
I was not worth the lad; let his due be
That I outclimb his star; I were a clod
Not to be less but more, at last to grow
Into the loveliness he was to me,
And being worth him, of some poor worth to God.

Englische Gedichte App

Dieses Gedicht und viele weitere findest Du auch in der Englische Gedichte App.