Page:An Anthology of Modern Bohemian Poetry.pdf/43

The biting dust of need her beauteous face assailed,
Into her eyes it gnawed and quenched in tears its heat;
In drifts like to the sand-storm on her path it trailed,
Arched for her faintness in its billows a retreat.

Beneath the load of gloomy years her back she bent,
The scorching heat of toil upon her freshness preyed.
On death she placed her kiss; by grievous anguish rent,
Smiling, with whispered words of thanks she answer made.

On marble dank of churches she knelt down adream,
Amid the grave-yard taper scent, before the shrine;
She poured a shower of fragrant comforts in a stream
Within the chalice of her soul, as dew-drops shine.

O mother mine, to-day in lustre all aflame,
Thou golden arrow, to the focus that did fly
Of secrets ne'er at rest! The cadence of thy name
Upon our waves ceased quailing, but I know thee nigh!