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The desolation and terror of, for the first time, realizing that the mother can lose you, or you her, and your own abysmal loneliness and helplessness without her.

Francis Thompson

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Francis Thompson
Age: 47 †
Born: 1859
Born: December 16
Died: 1907
Died: November 13
Literary Critic
Poet
Writer
Without
Loneliness
First
Terror
Time
Lose
Realizing
Loses
Family
Abysmal
Mother
Desolation
Firsts
Helplessness

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The innocent moon, that nothing does but shine,Moves all the labouring surges of the world.
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All things by immortal power. Near of far, to each other linked are, that thou canst not stir a flower without troubling of a star.
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Look for me in the nurseries of Heaven.
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Little Jesus, was Thou shy Once, and just so small as I? And what did it feel like to be Out of Heaven, and just like me?
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Oh invisible, we view thee, O world intangible, we touch thee, o world unknowable, we know thee.
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Deep in my heart subsides the infrequent word, And there dies slowly throbbing like a wounded bird.
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Agnosticism is the everlasting perhaps.
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Baby smiled, mother wailed, Earthward while the sweetling sailed Mother smiled, baby wailed, When to earth came Viola.
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The devil doesn't know how to sing, only how to howl.
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Nothing begins, and nothing ends, That is not paid with moan For we are born in others pain And perish in our own.
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Spring is come home with her world-wandering feet, And all things are made young with your desires.
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There is no expeditious road To pack and label men for God, And save them by the barrel-load. Some may perchance, with strange surprise, Have blundered into Paradise.
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But lilies, stolen from grassy mold, No more curled state unfold, Translated to a vase of gold In burning throne though they keep still Serenities unthawed and chill.
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Thou cannot stir a flower Without troubling a star.
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