Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, UPPER CHAMBERS, by CLARA PLATT MEADOWCROFT


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

UPPER CHAMBERS, by                    
First Line: I have heard my mother, as long as I remember
Last Line: In the upper chambers. I grope on the stair.
Subject(s): Death - Mothers; Dead, The


I have heard my mother, as long as I remember,
Tell of upper chambers, where beauty never dies;
Chambers lying starward; and from there returning,
Visions of dim terraces lingered in her eyes.

"Whatever you may need is in the upper chambers;
You will find your way there," she used to repeat.
I could never see them, the steps by which she mounted,
But I knew the stairway was near my mother's feet.

Once we were hungry and we had nothing:
"Only be patient; keep heart," she said.
To some high altar she climbed, and after,
She broke for us white wheat bread.

Once in a fever I felt my mother lift me
Up, up, and up; the way seemed long and steep.
Slowly, steadily, she bore me without resting
Into a shadowy place of cool, healing sleep.

Once, all alone, I felt the fever burning;
Trustfully adventuring, I reached the stairway; then --
Oh, the friendly darkness! -- my hand out before me
Found a cup of water that made me cool again.

Afterward, older, I climbed to magic chambers;
Moved about them wondering, touching things unseen.
Once my curious fingers found a jar of alabaster, --
Treasure broken long ago, -- whole as it had been.

I could look downward and see the world below me,
But as in a mirror with its shallow deeps;
Men and women threatening -- as marble figures threaten;
Men and women weeping -- as a painted figure weeps.

It was so still there. My mother had taught me,
"Only in silence can thought be heard.
Silence listens . . . and silence answers."
(Down through that silence she has sent me word.)

Shadows hung over all; but she had told me,
"Light grows slowly, as we know the place,
Softer, brighter, than light though rose leaves."
(I have seen it since -- far off -- that light upon her face.)

Death did not startle her; she went so quietly
Up past his following. Still she is there,
Housed with vanished beauty, and beauty yet in star-dust,
In the upper chambers. I grope on the stair.





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