A CRY IN THE WORLD
Kine, kine. in the meadows, why do you low so piteously?
High is the grass to your knees and wet with the dew of the morn,
Sweet with the perfume of honey, and breath of the clover blossoms;
But the sad-eyed kine on the hillside see no joy in the day newborn.
“Man, man has bereft us and taken our young ones from us;
Thus we call in the eve, call through night to the break of day,
That they may hear and answer; so we find no peace in the meadows.
Our hearts are sad with hunger for the love man stole away.”
Bird, bird, on the tree-top, my heart doth sigh for thy music;
In the glad air of mom and promise of summer, rejoice!
Thy head droops low on thy breast, half hid in thy ruffled feathers.
The grove is lone for thy singing, O bird of the silver voice!“
Man, man has bereft me, stolen my nestlings from me,
Wrecked the soft home we built 'mid the budding blossoms of spring.
My mate's brown wings grow red in vain beating the bars of her prison;
With heart so full of longing and mourning, how can I sing?”
191
