I wander from the cloister
Adown the valley green.
The spring air wakes my fancies,
The dreams that might have been.

The picture of God's mother
Hangs from a linden tree.
My soul it starts with memories —
Forgotten dreams I see.

Ah, strange this picture hidden,
Half hid by flowerets fair,
'Twas hung there by my mother,
Long years ago, just there.

And as I have been gazing
Upon it, I have felt
Within my soul a sorrow,
A bitterness there dwelt.

And while I look it changes;
My mother's face I see.
The features calm in prayer, —
That prayer, it is for me.

The eyes with tear drops heavy,
The lips drawn for a kiss;
My mother's face the last time
She kissed my brow in bliss.

And back I wander slowly,
Beneath the trees alone,
While thoughts of spring and sweetness,
My God, from me have flown.