Thoughts of a Mother

Lo! a fir-tree towers o’er Sarajevo, Spreads o’er half the face of Sarajevo— Rises up to heaven from Sarajevo: Brothers and half-sisters there were seated; And the brother cuts a silken garment, Which he holds, and questions thus his sister:

“Brother’s wife! thou sweet and lovely dovelet! Wherefore art thou looking at the fir-tree? Art thou rather dreaming of the poplar, Or art thinking of my absent brother?”

To her brother thus the lady answer’d: “Golden-ring of mine! my husband’s brother! Not about the fir-tree was I dreaming, Nor the noble stem of lofty poplar; Neither was I dreaming of my brother. I was thinking of my only mother, She with sugar and with honey reared me; She for me the red wine pour’d at even, And at midnight gave the sweet metheglin; In the morning milk, with spirit chasten’d, So to give me cheeks of rose and lily; And with gentle messages she waked me, That her child might grow both tall and slender.”