The feast returned—you did not come again,O you who filled my being's every vein.
Birds sing within the bowers, sweet and free—Where is the muse that once inspired me?
I see my heart still panting, spent and worn,Drained dry by tears the verses long have borne.
And vanished are the dreams that once I knew,That made each feast a season bright and new.
The feast returned—you did not come again;Where is the fountain of the roses' rain?
Where she who used to gather with the birdsThe harvest of affection's sweetest words?
Where, where—O Mother, where, and ever where?How much of love you gave, beyond compare!
I looked upon existence, far and wide,And found no dwelling for the poet's pride.
How often I invoked my Lord and cried:Let her return—let her again abide!
Till I awoke—and you in Eden's bowers,In gardens of eternity and ours.
Death will not grant us happiness belowWhile we remain in life's uncertain flow.
Strange—I remain on earth, while you have wonEternal bliss beneath a deathless sun.
God kept me here that I might still proclaimYour living love and motherhood's sweet name.
And ever shall I keep the memoryOf motherhood renewed each festivity.
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