42
tasso.
Dear heart of my mother, motherLong resting from earth and anguish,Pity—pity, pity thy child!
O what have they taken from me?Thought, and will, and affection,And left for my brain but a throb,
For my heart but endless thirsting,And the blank, burnt desert of beingSpread awful, and blinding, and mute.
Yet sometimes in the great PresenceOf moments fallen from heaven,Whose law, though not known, I obey,
Once more is thought disentangled,And there come the beautiful childrenOf the eternal spring unto me.
