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Poem	YOUR paths were all unknown to us: We were so far away from you: We mixed in thought your spirit thus— With whiteness, stars of gold, and dew. The Mighty Mother nourished you; Her breath blew from her mystic bowers; Their elfin glimmer floated through The pureness of your shadowy hours. The Mighty Mother made you wise, Gave love that clears the hidden ways; Her glooms were glory to your eyes, Her darkness but the fount of days. You with all gentleness she graced, And beauty radiant as the morn’s: She made our joy in yours, then placed Upon your head a crown of thorns. Your eyes are filled with tender light For those whose eyes are dim with tears: They see your brow is crowned and bright, But not its ring of wounding spears.
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