Page:Bohemian legends and other poems.djvu/150



I wander from the cloister,
 * Adown the valley green.

The spring air wakes my fancies,
 * The dreams that might have been.

The picture of God’s mother,
 * Hangs from the linden tree.

My soul it starts with memories—
 * Forgotten dreams I see.

Ah, strange this picture hidden,
 * Half hid by flowrets fair,

Was hung there by my mother,
 * Years, years ago, just there.

Not long ago I gazing,
 * Upon the picture felt

Within my soul a sorrow—
 * A bitterness there dwelt.

And while I look it changes;
 * My mother’s face I see.

The features calm in prayer—
 * That prayer is for me.

The eyes with tear-drops heavy,
 * The lips drawn for a kiss;

My mother’s face the last time
 * She kissed my brow in bliss.

And back I wander slowly,
 * Beneath the trees alone,

While thoughts of spring and sweetness,
 * My God, from me have flown.