MONOLOGUE OF A MOTHER by D. H. Lawrence: Summary, Meaning & Analysis
A mother watches her grown son drift away and feels like she has nothing left to hold onto — not her son, not her husband, not even herself.
The poem
THIS is the last of all, this is the last! I must hold my hands, and turn my face to the fire, I must watch my dead days fusing together in dross, Shape after shape, and scene after scene from my past Fusing to one dead mass in the sinking fire Where the ash on the dying coals grows swiftly, like heavy moss. Strange he is, my son, whom I have awaited like a lover, Strange to me like a captive in a foreign country, haunting The confines and gazing out on the land where the wind is free; White and gaunt, with wistful eyes that hover Always on the distance, as if his soul were chaunting The monotonous weird of departure away from me. Like a strange white bird blown out of the frozen seas, Like a bird from the far north blown with a broken wing Into our sooty garden, he drags and beats From place to place perpetually, seeking release From me, from the hand of my love which creeps up, needing His happiness, whilst he in displeasure retreats. I must look away from him, for my faded eyes Like a cringing dog at his heels offend him now, Like a toothless hound pursuing him with my will, Till he chafes at my crouching persistence, and a sharp spark flies In my soul from under the sudden frown of his brow, As he blenches and turns away, and my heart stands still. This is the last, it will not be any more. All my life I have borne the burden of myself, All the long years of sitting in my husband's house, Never have I said to myself as he closed the door: "Now I am caught!--You are hopelessly lost, O Self, You are frightened with joy, my heart, like a frightened mouse." Three times have I offered myself, three times rejected. It will not be any more. No more, my son, my son! Never to know the glad freedom of obedience, since long ago The angel of childhood kissed me and went. I expected Another would take me,--and now, my son, O my son, I must sit awhile and wait, and never know The loss of myself, till death comes, who cannot fail. Death, in whose service is nothing of gladness, takes me; For the lips and the eyes of God are behind a veil. And the thought of the lipless voice of the Father shakes me With fear, and fills my eyes with the tears of desire, And my heart rebels with anguish as night draws nigher,
A mother watches her grown son drift away and feels like she has nothing left to hold onto — not her son, not her husband, not even herself. She reflects on a life spent waiting to give herself completely to someone, only to be rejected each time. Now, as she confronts old age, she sees death as the only certainty ahead.
Line-by-line
THIS is the last of all, this is the last! / I must hold my hands, and turn my face to the fire,
Strange he is, my son, whom I have awaited like a lover, / Strange to me like a captive in a foreign country, haunting
Like a strange white bird blown out of the frozen seas, / Like a bird from the far north blown with a broken wing
I must look away from him, for my faded eyes / Like a cringing dog at his heels offend him now,
This is the last, it will not be any more. / All my life I have borne the burden of myself,
Three times have I offered myself, three times rejected. / It will not be any more. No more, my son, my son!
Death, in whose service is nothing of gladness, takes me; / For the lips and the eyes of God are behind a veil.
Tone & mood
The tone is raw, confessional, and suffocating—in the best way. Lawrence offers the mother no ironic distance from her own feelings; she expresses exactly what she means, and what she means is uncomfortable. There is grief here, but also a fierce self-awareness: she recognizes that her love has become a trap for her son, and she understands she cannot stop it. The mood shifts steadily from resignation at the start to something resembling dread by the final lines, where even God feels cold and distant.
Symbols & metaphors
- The dying fire — The fire the mother stares into symbolizes her life being reduced to useless remnants — "dross" refers to the waste produced after metal is smelted. Observing the ash accumulate over the coals is like witnessing her past turn to dust and fade away.
- The wounded bird — The son is like a bird blown off course with a broken wing—alive but unable to fly free, feeling restless and out of place. This imagery reflects his suffering and highlights that he isn’t where he belongs, stuck in his mother's orbit.
- The cringing dog — The mother's view of herself as a toothless, cringing hound trailing behind her son highlights her acute awareness of her own desperation. While she remains loyal and continues to chase after him, she realizes she has transformed into something that pushes him away instead of drawing him in.
- The angel of childhood — This figure captures the last time the mother experienced pure, uncomplicated love — back in her childhood. After that angel left, she spent the rest of her life searching for that sense of complete belonging, but she never found it.
- The veil over God's face — God's hidden face suggests that even divine love is absent from her. The "lipless voice" of the Father represents a God who can give commands but offers no comfort — the most extreme form of the rejection she has faced in all her human relationships.
- The number three — "Three times have I offered myself, three times rejected" resonates with the biblical theme of triple denial. It lends her suffering a ritualistic, almost predestined quality — suggesting that rejection has shaped her entire existence.
Historical context
Lawrence wrote this poem in the years leading up to World War One, a time when he was navigating his complicated relationship with his mother, Lydia. This relationship influenced nearly all of his work, notably the novel *Sons and Lovers* (1913), which explores similar themes: a mother who gives her son the affection she lacked from her husband, and a son who struggles to break free from her hold. After his mother passed away from cancer in 1910, Lawrence assisted in ending her suffering with a morphine overdose. The poems he composed around this time, gathered in *Amores* (1916), represent some of the most candid and unsettling examinations of maternal love in English poetry. What makes this poem stand out is that it allows the mother to express her own voice, rather than presenting her solely through her son's viewpoint.
FAQ
A mother observes her adult son distancing himself and feels powerless to stop it. As she thinks back, she realizes her life has been marked by a series of failures to fully give herself to anyone—her husband never evoked that sense of connection, and now her son is pushing her love away as well. The poem concludes with her facing death as the only certainty that will remain, refusing to turn her away.
Yes, Lawrence intends for it to feel uncomfortable, and he doesn't hold back. The poem honestly depicts a specific type of maternal love that leans into emotional dependency — the mother has channeled the passion she never experienced in her marriage entirely onto her son. Lawrence examined this same theme in *Sons and Lovers*. The goal isn't to criticize her but to illustrate how a life lacking mutual adult love can distort even the most genuine affection.
She has attempted to surrender herself completely to love three times in her life, only to be turned away each time. The most straightforward interpretation is that these three rejections represent: her childhood world (which has come to an end), her husband (who never sparked deep devotion in her), and now her son (who is preparing to leave). The resonance of Peter's three denials of Christ in the Bible adds a feeling of inevitability to the line — as if rejection has been her fate all along.
It marks the last moment she truly felt at home in love — her childhood, before adult life made things messy. After that phase ended, she spent years trying to recapture that sense of belonging, but it eluded her. The angel "kissed" her and departed, a tender way of saying that childhood ended, taking with it the gift of simple love.
Because in this poem, God represents a kind of love that is kept away from her. God's face is hidden behind a veil — she can't see it or feel it. The "lipless voice of the Father" belongs to a God who gives orders but can't provide warmth or affection. For a woman whose entire life revolves around the lack of love, even the divine brings no solace — only more separation.
Almost certainly, yes. Lawrence shared a deeply intense relationship with his mother, Lydia, who poured a tremendous amount of emotional energy into him following a challenging marriage. His novel *Sons and Lovers* closely mirrors that dynamic, almost as if it’s a memoir. What sets this poem apart is that Lawrence writes *from* the mother's perspective, offering her a sense of depth and empathy instead of simply depicting her influence on the son.
The son is likened to a seabird tossed off course by a storm — a creature from a cold, open place that has crash-landed in a small, sooty garden. He is alive but hurt, restless, and entirely out of his element. This image reflects both his pain and the reality that he can't just leave: a bird with a broken wing can't soar away, much like the son isn't fully gone yet, always striving to escape.
The poem features loose stanzas of six lines and an irregular rhyme scheme. Lawrence doesn’t adhere to a strict form, but the recurring rhymes give the piece a sense of struggling to hold itself together. This reflects the mother’s experience: she is trying to stay composed and aware while her emotions unravel. The final stanza deviates from the pattern, ending abruptly mid-thought with a sense of anguish, which feels completely appropriate.