The Mother
We scar the earth with dreadful engin’ry; She takes us to her bosom at the last; Hiding our hate with love, who cannot see Of any child the faults; and holds us fast. We’ll wait in quiet till our passion’s past.
We scar the earth with dreadful engin’ry; She takes us to her bosom at the last; Hiding our hate with love, who cannot see Of any child the faults; and holds us fast. We’ll wait in quiet till our passion’s past.