I miss thee, my Mother! Thy image is still
The deepest impress’d on my heart,
And the tablet so faithful in death must be chill
Ere a line of that image depart.
Thou wert torn from my side when I treasured thee most –
When my reason could measure thy worth;
When I knew but too well that the idol I’d lost
Could be never replaced upon earth.
~ Eliza Cook
(Melaia & Other Poems)