TALISMANS

JUST now the Mother left me, and I stand Holding her trove, a sheaf of shining curl— All that is left of “Once a little girl,” Alive and warm and glowing in my hand. Like to a Seer gazing into space, I muse upon this silken treasure, where The coiled lights quicken, and I see the fair Woman-ward leaning of a childish face. I see that face gaze down the crowded years, Quite unamazed, unchanged through all the stir To find the deep maternal heart of Her, Who gazes back all undeterred by tears. I see the child eyes give their radiant speech Once more to mother-eyes that never failed; I see a heart that never yet has quailed Answer those eyes over the long years’ reach.... The Winter sun goes down; quick chills the air Outside my window.... While the West grows old, I stand in Sanctuary, for I hold Undying Faith, enshrined in golden hair.