Classic Poem

I feel like a small child, lost
In a scene of gaiety.
Where are you, mother mine?
Not there — that is not she —

Nor this one. ... Mother mine,
How can I search? I do not know
Which you are! Vainly seeking,
My tears fast flow.

Just like a little child
I weep in misery.
Is your cheek dark, O Mother?
Or fair to see?

This is not you, nor that. . . .
Where are you, Mother mine?
To lighten my dark soul
Your eyes must brightly shine.

Your hands must be soft,
Gentle with tenderness;
Your lips must drip honey
To sweeten my bitterness.

Your kind breast must be
Oblivion of grief;
You must be, O Mother,
Love beyond belief.

Your love must be
A vivifying breath,
And your caresses
Sweet as sweet death.

Are you my mother?
To each woman I pray
Some sigh, some laugh, not knowing
The thing that I say.