Classic Poem

Lift up thine eyes, my child,
That I may see
The innocence that smiled
In one like thee —
Thy mother gone.

Scarce older than thou art,
With maiden power
She won a wayward heart,
That till that hour
Had worshipped none.

Swift as a bird of Spring
In joyous flight,
That cleaves with shadeless wing
The sea of light,
Our morning fled.

When, sudden gloom — and lo!
A troubled sky —
A wail of stifled woe —
An agony —
And hope was dead.

Then, as a crystal tear
Of sorrow born,
Didst thou, pale star, appear,
Like me forlorn
In cheerless night.

I wept, and weeping turned
To gaze on thee,
And through the mist discerned
A beam for me,
Lit of her light.