An Anthology of Modern Bohemian Poetry/To My Mother
Jan Neruda (1834—1891).
TO MY MOTHER
Know'st thou, dear mother, of the golden sun,
And of his mother—legend passing fair,
Who, night by night upon her withered breast
To slumber lulls her son far spent with care?
Yea, the poor wight must rove enough, enough,
Yea, all the day he thro' the world must go,
Enough grey mists and tempests, gloomy clouds,
Almost as much as man bears here below.
A grey-beard he lies down, a youth he rises,
With new-gained strength afresh o'er heaven runs,—
O mother, mother, yea, thou righteous angel,—
My need is e'en as grievous as the sun's.
"Book of Verses" (1867).