One face I see by thine whene’er I hold Converse with things that are or things that were; Whene’er I seek life’s hidden folds to stir, And watch the inner to the outer rolled.
Dost thou not know her, O beloved one? Hast thou not felt her sunshine on thy face? In me hast thou not learned some signs to trace Of that dear soul who calleth me her son?
Such as I was that in thy countenance Found favour, from her it was gathered most. To my mad youth her gentle surveillance
Was like a watch-fire on a rock-bound coast. She drew about me motherhood, and thou Hast with Love’s holy chrism touched my brow.