’Tis a thought we hold together.
THE CHILD’S QUEST
My mother twines me roses wet with dew;
Oft have I sought the garden through and through;
I cannot find the tree whereon
My mother’s roses grew.
Seek not, O child, the tree whereon
Thy mother’s roses grew.
My mother tells me tales of noble deeds;
Oft have I sought her book when no one heeds;