With a sad, calm, wistful look, and wait
Watching the children at their play.
But they always shrank away from her
When she strove to comfort their alarms,
And their grave, cold silence to beguile:
Even little Olga’s baby smile
Quiver’d into tears when in her arms.
I never could chide them; for I saw
How their mother’s memory grew more deep
In their hearts. Each night I had to tell