FORTH welling from the breast of sapphire lakes,
Oh, tell my jocund heart why from their shore
Of emerald do those pairs of wandering pearls
Like rain upon the rosy plains downpour?

Less pure, less tender, are the twilight dews,
At eve descending on the crimson rose
And on the lily’s petals, fine and frail,
Than those twin drops in which thy sorrow flows.

Speak, why do founts of shining tears descend,
Mary, from thy love-dropping virgin eyes
To thy cheek’s edge, and there hang tremulous,
As the stars twinkle in the evening skies?

As the heart-piercing pupil of the eye,
So sensitive each tear-drop seems to be ;
Like the unwinking pupil of the eye,
Charming my soul, the bright drops look at me.

The heart throbs hard, the gazer holds his breath. —
Ah, now I know the truth ! Oh, woe is me !
For me those tears have risen to thine eyes,
To heal my spirit’s wounds eternally.

But still of my unconsecrated heart
Distrustful, they half-fallen linger there,
And do not dare to drop and moisten me.
No, Mary ! No, O Virgin Mother fair !

I am a land uncultured, rough and wild ;
But, underneath those tender tears of thine,
Let rose and saffron bloom there ! With thy love
Water and cheer this sorrowing heart of mine!