The 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.