A poem of hope and pessimism
I am the oppressed one
Bearing my cross alone
Rail not, child of mine
But look thither, the stars are thine
I am the silent one
Shall I my woes intone?
Fret not, son of light
The stars will shine by night
You are the weeping one
Oughtn't you your troubles groan
Speak thee, mother of mine
And watch thy woes decline
Nay. Nay, child of day
Such woes lose not a ray
Hush. Hush, wise child and watch
The stars and feel their touch
I see not the stars ye speak
For this is day so meek
There's the sun warm and bright
And yet you see the flaws of night