Page:Maryland, my Maryland, and other poems - Randall - 1908.pdf/176

 He nothing heeds the long despair
 * Within the savage swamp,

The jungle and the thicket where
 * The serpent tribes encamp;

He little heeds the dream of Fame,
 * Its treason or its trust,

The hope of a sonorous name—
 * A requiem from the dust.

But oh, he heeds Elysian hours
 * That hint of Long Ago!

Those dreamful days in college towers
 * He never more shall know—

The home he never more may see,
 * A Paradise to him—

The books he read at Mother’s knee
 * When her dear eyes grew dim!

O Mother—Mother! Tears must fleet
 * Along the battle track

Ere yet thy lonely heart can greet
 * Its weary wanderer back—

A deathless love these tears bespeak,
 * For thy devotion shed,

With thy pure kisses on my cheek,
 * Thy blessing on my head!