Mother, in some sad evening long ago, <br /> From thy young breast my groping lips were taken, <br /> Their hunger stilled, so soon again to waken, <br />But nevermore that holy food to know. <br /> <br />Ah! nevermore! for all the child might crave! <br /> Ah! nevermore! through years unkind and dreary! <br /> Often of other fare my lips are weary, <br />Unwearied once of what thy bosom gave. <br /> <br />(Poor wordless mouth that could not speak thy name! <br /> At what unhappy revels has it eaten <br /> The viands that no memory can sweeten, -- <br />The banquet found eternally the same!) <br /> <br />Then fell a shadow first on thee and me, <br /> And tendrils broke that held us two how dearly! <br /> Once infinitely thine, then hourly, yearly, <br />Less thine, as less the worthy thine to be. <br /> <br />(O mouth that yet should kiss the mouth of Sin! <br /> Were lies so sweet, now bitter to remember? <br /> Slow sinks the flame unfaithful to an ember; <br />New beauty fades and passion's wine is thin.) <br /> <br />How poor an end of that solicitude <br /> And all the love I had not from another! <br /> Peace to thine unforgetting heart, O Mother, <br />Who gav'st the dear and unremembered food!<br /><br />George Sterling<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-first-food/
