The Place of Rest

Unto the deep the deep heart goes, It lays its sadness nigh the breast: Only the Mighty Mother knows The wounds that quiver unconfessed. It seeks a deeper silence still; It folds itself around with peace, Where thoughts alike of good or ill In quietness unfostered cease. It feels in the unwounding vast For comfort for its hopes and fears: The Mighty Mother bows at last; She listens to her children’s tears. Where the last anguish deepens — there The fire of beauty smites through pain: A glory moves amid despair, The Mother takes her child again. ~George William Russell~


© 2020 by Ingrid Oliphant