Enoch Powell: First Poems: XXXII) Matri Ecclesiae

XXXII) Matri Ecclesiae

Though nevermore thy face I’ll see,

Kind mother, though no more to thee

Shall e’er return  my wayward feet,

Yet still across the widening years

Thy well-known accents echo sweet,

As sweet they fall upon my ears

As sound of bells across a lake,

Or children’s voices in the choir;

And in my breast they ever wake

The echo of an old desire .

For though it would not, yet my heart

Confesses, Mother, who thou art.