Unto the deep the deep heart goes,
It lays its sadness nigh the breast:
Only the Mighty Mother knows
The wounds that quiver unconfessed.
It lays its sadness nigh the breast:
Only the Mighty Mother knows
The wounds that quiver unconfessed.
It seeks a deeper silence still;
It folds itself around with peace,
Where thoughts alike of good and ill
It folds itself around with peace,
Where thoughts alike of good and ill
In quietness unfostered cease.
It feels in the unwounding vast
For comfort for its hopes and fears:
The Mighty Mother bows at last;
She listens to her children's tears.
For comfort for its hopes and fears:
The Mighty Mother bows at last;
She listens to her children's tears.
Where the last anguish deepens - there
The fire of beauty smites through the pain:
A glory moves amid despair,
The Mother takes her child again.
The fire of beauty smites through the pain:
A glory moves amid despair,
The Mother takes her child again.
AE (George William Russell)
Irish Poet and Painter
with thanks to Death Deconstructed
and photo too...
and photo too...
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