Ambition, and Other Poems/Born of Tears
Born of Tears
A thing that's rich in tears is sweet—
No sounds in all the world are sweeter.
A robin redbreast in the fall,
The nightingale in June;
The bleating of young lambs in March,
And the violin in tune:
These are the sounds that haunt my ears,
And all of them are born of tears.
No sounds in all the world are sweeter.
A robin redbreast in the fall,
The nightingale in June;
The bleating of young lambs in March,
And the violin in tune:
These are the sounds that haunt my ears,
And all of them are born of tears.
A thing that's rich in tears is fair—
No sights in all the world are fairer.
How lovely is a summer's eve
'That's full of heavenly light;
When tears of joy, called shooting stars,
Run down the face of night.
While every rainbow that appears
Could say—'My mother's name is Tears.'
No sights in all the world are fairer.
How lovely is a summer's eve
'That's full of heavenly light;
When tears of joy, called shooting stars,
Run down the face of night.
While every rainbow that appears
Could say—'My mother's name is Tears.'