Edith Wharton

(24 January 1862 – 11 August 1937 / New York City / United States)

Botticelli's Madonna In The Louvre - Poem by Edith Wharton

WHAT strange presentiment, O Mother, lies
On thy waste brow and sadly-folded lips,
Forefeeling the Light's terrible eclipse
On Calvary, as if love made thee wise,
And thou couldst read in those dear infant eyes
The sorrow that beneath their smiling sleeps,
And guess what bitter tears a mother weeps
When the cross darkens her unclouded skies?

Sad Lady, if some mother, passing thee,
Should feel a throb of thy foreboding pain,
And think - 'My child at home clings so to me,
With the same smile . . . and yet in vain, in vain,
Since even this Jesus died on Calvary' -
Say to her then: 'He also rose again.'

Comments about Botticelli's Madonna In The Louvre by Edith Wharton

  • (2/23/2015 7:06:00 AM)

    beautiful poem, beautiful message of love and hope that only a mother can truly generate. A voiceless, indescribable strength presented so elegantly. I enjoy the pure emotion behind this piece. (Report) Reply

    1 person liked.
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  • Kim Barney (2/23/2015 4:08:00 AM)

    I think this is a great poem of hope, and deserves much better than the 5.3 user rating given by the 34 voters so far! (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, April 20, 2010

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