Eliza Allen Starr (29 Aug 1824 – 08 Sep 1901 | Deerfield MA – Durand IL) poet, author, lecturer, illustrator, Catholic convert.

Mother’s cheek of patient dolour, wetted with one holy tear. Never may more bitter

juices wet those patient lips of thine, than the juices of the clusters purpling o’er that

virgin vine. The heart keeps its guileless truth, as does the placid face of patient age –

the matron mild, the hoary sage. The aged fingers ply, with patient, faithful care, the

needle’s polished shaft, her eye fast fading, but still fair. Recall her weary tread upon

the stair – a world of patient love was in that slow step of care. Old teeth must break

with slow, patient toil the remnant crust. From their own wilful blindness, patient Lord,

protect – divide the Shepherd’s patient cares – a fresh young face perchance, an aged

face, perchance, of patient love. Blessed by thee at last, I trust my patient eyes in hope

to close, when my body turns to dust. O patient Friend, speak! I attend thy patient lips.

Starr, Eliza Allen. Poems. Philadelphia: H. McGrath, 1867. https://archive.org/details/poems01star