By Luis G. Dato
When evenings cast pale shadows o’er the earth,
And silence, like a vast mysterious ghost,
Stifles the land and sea from hill to coast,
And buries all the tropic suns gave birth;
When by myself I pace the darkened shore
And think of this unhappy lot of mine,
The pain and grief the fates to me assign,
I sigh for you, O mother I adore!
That I could seek your bosom as of old,
And, nestling there, bare secrets that oppress,
Accuse these that my love would dispossess,
Whose hearts to cold desires and base are sold.
O mother dear, when death relieves our sighs,
Shall we in heaven meet, in Paradise?
