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