The courage that my mother had / Went with her, and is with her still: / Rock from New England quarried; / Now granite in a granite hill. // The golden brooch my mother wore / She left behind for me to wear; / I have no thing I treasure more: / Yet, it is something I could spare. // Oh, if instead she’d left to me / The thing she took into the grave!— / That courage like a rock, which she / Has no more need of, and I have.