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BECAUSE the angels in the Heavens above,
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Devoutly singing unto one another,
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Can find, amid their burning terms of love,
None so devotional as that of “mother,”
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Therefore by that sweet name I long have called you;
You who are more than mother unto me,
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Filling my heart of hearts, where God installed you,
In setting my Virginia's spirit free.
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My mother — my own mother, who died early,
Was but the mother of myself; but you
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Are mother to the dead I loved so dearly,
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Are thus more precious than the one I knew,
By that infinity with which my wife
Was dearer to my soul than its soul-life.
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Notes:
None.
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[S:0 - JHW11, 1911] - Edgar Allan Poe Society of Baltimore - Works - Sonnet -- To My Mother (ed. J. H. Whitty, 1911)