"Goodnight, sweet prince," my mother
used to say
In the blessed midnights when while
still with me
She bade farewell to each
enhallowed day,
And laid with God the hours
and days to be.
And sometimes in my own bed,
lying awake,
I vowed I would be nobler
for her sake
Such is the love that blinded
love compels.
Now in my own late age,
the years far run
In which the ardour
of fulfillment dwells,
And morning greets the
30,000th sun,
I seek to verify
that ancient vow
Which yet unsatisfied
pursues me now
Literary Executor - James R. Varey
