Mysterious mother, what intensitude
Of vision makes you minister heedlessly
To this your Child? Do shadows prophesy
Sorrows for Him on some incredible rood;
Or on your exaltation do you brood,
Blessed above women, seeking to clarify
Heaven's inmost aureole, and satisfy
Your wonderings upon God's womanhood?
Many, ah! many mothers, worn with care
Have wept for unrecorded Calvaries:
Can any pa**ion or tears or sobbing prayer
Shake you, or will you watch His agonies,
Sitting, as when you knew His messenger,
With implicate hands, inviolable eyes?