MOTHER, with whom our lives should be, <br />Not hatred keeps our lives apart: <br />Charmed by some lesser glow in thee, <br />Our hearts beat not within thy heart. <br /> <br /> <br />Beauty, the face, the touch, the eyes, <br />Prophets of thee, allure our sight <br />From that unfathomed deep where lies <br />Thine ancient loveliness and light. <br /> <br /> <br />Self-found at last, the joy that springs <br />Being thyself, shall once again <br />Start thee upon the whirling rings <br />And through the pilgrimage of pain.<br /><br />George William Russell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-veils-of-maya/
