We weep before the Blessed Mother's shrine,
To think upon her sorrows, but her joys
What nun could ever know a tithing of?
The precious hours she watched above His sleep
Were worth the fearful anguish of the end.
Yea, lack of love is bitterest of all.

Marianna Alcoforando - Helen of Troy and Other Poems (1911)

Helen of Troy and Other Poems/Marianna Alcoforando