Wisdom and a Mother
Why, mourner, do you mourn, nor see The heavenly Earth's felicity?
I mourn for him, my Dearest, lost, Who lived a frail life at my cost.
A grief like yours how many have known!
Were that a balm to ease my own! Or rather might I not accuse The Hand that does not even choose, But, taking blindly, took my best, And as indifferently takes the rest ... Like mine? Is there denied to me Even Sorrow's singularity?
John Freeman