Thus did my lady toward the southern sky,
Erect and motionless, her visage turn;
The mute suspense that filled her wistful eye,
Made me like one who waits a friend’s return,
Lives on this hope, and will no other own.
Translation of F. C. Gray. Dante Alighieri, 1265–1321.
THE MOTHER NIGHTINGALE.
FROM THE SPANISH.
I have seen a nightingale,
On a sprig of thyme bewail,