Page:Bohemian legends and other poems.djvu/102



Why are you so lost in thinking, Daughter mine? Why are you so lost in thinking? You who were so fond of laughing And whose face was always glad!”

I have killed a little pigeon, Mother mine; I have killed a little pigeon, A forsaken little pigeon; It was white; ah, white like snow.”

’Twas no pigeon, I misdoubt me, Daughter mine; ’Twas no pigeon, I misdoubt me; But your brain is touched, I fear me, And your look is strange and wild.”

Oh, I have killed a little child, Mother mine; Oh, I have killed a little child; My new-born babe, my own fair child— Would I could die with remorse!”

What do you mean to do, I ask, Daughter mine? What do you mean to do, I ask? How will you mend this luckless task— How will you find God’s mercy?”