Mary McNeelyPasser-by,To love is to find your own soulThrough the soul of the beloved one.When the beloved one withdraws itself from your soulThen you have lost your soul.It is written: “l have a friend,But my sorrow has no friend.”Hence my long years of solitude at the home of my father,Trying to get myself back,And to turn my sorrow into a supremer self.But there was my father with his sorrows,Sitting under the cedar tree,A picture that sank into my heart at lastBringing infinite repose.Oh, ye souls who have made lifeFragrant and white as tube rosesFrom earth’s dark soil,Eternal peace!
Passer-by,To love is to find your own soulThrough the soul of the beloved one.When the beloved one withdraws itself from your soulThen you have lost your soul.It is written: “l have a friend,But my sorrow has no friend.”Hence my long years of solitude at the home of my father,Trying to get myself back,And to turn my sorrow into a supremer self.But there was my father with his sorrows,Sitting under the cedar tree,A picture that sank into my heart at lastBringing infinite repose.Oh, ye souls who have made lifeFragrant and white as tube rosesFrom earth’s dark soil,Eternal peace!