I remember

Mother, this was your first kiss

And the memory of it lingers within me

Like the perfume of a flower.

When you saw me hurt and weeping,

Did you not bend softly and lay

Your warm cheeks against mine?

Mother, that was your first kiss

And I remember it still.

Then did I raise myself and throw my arms around you

As if I could make you a prisoner! and you smiled;

Ah! if I could ever remain thus with my mother smiling

And the kiss of her warm lips lingering

On my cheeks . . .