 | Evensong |  |
25
THE LITTLE THINGS
The foolish and the trivial thingsAnd not the great at all
Trouble me with their barbéd stings
Until the salt tears fall.
Not the unkind word that I spoke,
The love-word left unsaid,
Not these, not these my poor heart broke
When that my love was dead.
But just a turn, a look, a word,
Not memorable even,
Set in my heart a sudden sword
Yea, Mary's swords and seven.
When in the dusk I sit alone
And hug my secret smart,
The little things lie like a stone
Upon my grieving heart.
| Evensong | |