That for a moment on my features dwelt.
You, dearest mother, know
I shrank in sullenness from your caress.
Even your kisses added to distress,
For burning tears would flow
As you bent o’er me, whispering “be calm,
He who hath wounded holds for thee a balm.”
He did not seem a friend.
I deemed in wrath the sudden blow was sent
From a strong arm that never might relent.