She stood before the holy icon

She stood before the holy icon;

She had crossed her hands, her lips moved;

From her eyes, one by one, tears

Rolled like pearls over her pale cheeks.

She repeated the same name over and over,

And her face was lit with the light of prayer;

And there was so much love and suffering,

Yet so little hope in those prayers!

She had bowed down and long remained there,

With her head fixed on the silent ground,

As if she was waiting in mute languour,

For his voice to issue a greeting to her.

But all was quiet in the dead of night,

The candle flickered in the heavy darkness,

And the eyes of the Saviour looked in sorrow

On her eyes, which begged the impossible