Yet knew I not that day had come, for clouds
Covered the light of morning from mine eyes,
Hid me in wells of darkness and thick night,
A Niobe of stone, but lacking tears
Which else had melted stone; till, fearfully,
My son came to me and put out his hand
And touched me gently; and, as in deep pools
One sees obscurely through the broken lights
And rippling shadows, so upon my sight,
Though faint and blurred, a vision of my son