  Not what I ask, but what I do not ask, O my Beloved, proves my love for you. And love can set to love no harder task Than wistful silence, reticence to sue. I lock my lips, I force a wise content With all my being wailing for a sign. Ah, if men knew what woman's smiling meant When fierce and hard the heart cries out "He's mine." Mothers of men are we, we barren ones Who say "Be happy, dear, and play your part." What matter how we yearn, you are our sons Whose every footfall breaks a woman's heart. |
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