Because I feel that, in the heavens above,

The angels, whispering to one another,

Can find, among their burning terms of love,

None so devotional as that of ‘mother’ —

Therefore by that sweet name I long have called you —

You, who are more than mother unto me,

And fill my heart of hearts, where Death installed you,

In setting my Virginia's spirit free.

My mother — my own mother — who died early —

Was but the mother of myself; but you

Are mother to the one I loved so dearly,

And thus are dearer than the mother I knew;

By that infinity with which my wife

Was dearer to my soul than its soul-life.