COVE

22 August 1920

Dearest Agnes,

Your father has always known my love for poetry, especially our beloved poets back home. Tadgh Ó Donnchadha of our same Cork is a favorite for me, along with William Butler Yates, of course. I recall the first time I heard “A book of verses underneath the vine, A loaf of bread, a jug of ruby wine, And thou beside me, resting in the wild, Would make the dreary wilderness divine” - your father recited these words to me the day we learned you would come into our lives, the same day, he handed me this book, Rubá’iyat of Omar Khayyam: A New Metrical Version Rendered into English From Various Persian Sources.

I marveled at the rich suede green cover, deep and vibrant like the rolling hills in Ireland; the shimmering silk inside cover, mesmerizing me with its beauty. I ran my fingers gently over these pages, precious as they are. The gold smoke rising up around the title from an incense burner reminded me of the thurible Father O’Malley carries down the aisle of Saint Gen’s at Sunday Mass. Father O’Malley, who prayed with me for you to arrive in this world healthy and strong. I attended mass every Sunday with you, praying with you, praying for you. I looked upon this cover and thought of all of those prayers, prayers to Saint Jude, and of course prayers to our Blessed Mother.

Imagine my delight when I opened the book and saw the name George Roe, a name that can be found on your father’s side back home in Ireland. Your father had the same reaction when he found it sitting on the shelf of a book shop, Paul Elder and Company. While stationed at the Naval Base in San Francisco, they were given one night to explore before deployment. He wandered into the shop on Grant. As he tells it, the book called to him from the shelves. Just as it called to me when placed into my hands. No matter to me that it had clearly been in the possession of someone before, the pages already worn by constant reading, and the price marked down. That it was once in the hands of someone else, with some slightly tattered pages and the gold gilding on the page edges beginning to wear off, tells me that it was loved dearly, and to have something so deeply loved is something to be cherished even more.

And so I gift you this book, which I read to you every night over the last year, and while we waited for your arrival. A gift for you to pass on to your first daughter.

May the verses bring you love, and remind you to live in devotion.

May the verses guide you in times of doubt, and in times of certainty.

May the verses comfort your sorrows, and brighten your joys.

Just as your father recited his favorite verse to me, I share mine with you - 

“Thou precious jewel of this yearning heart, Choice of my spirit, of my soul a part, — What is so dear to me as life, but thou? And sweeter far than life itself thou art.”

your devoted mother,

Virginia