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|
 | The poems of Madison Cawein |  |
XVIII
“There came no words of comfort from your lips.
Not that I asked for pity! that had been
As fire unto the scalded or dry bread
Unto the famished fallen 'mid the sands!
But all your actions said that I was wrong,
But how, I know not and have ceased to care;
Still standing like one stricken blind at noon,
Who gropes and fumbles, feeling all grow strange
That once was so familiar; cursing God
Who locks him in with darkness and despair.—
Your judgment had been juster had it had
A lesser love than mine to judge.—O love,
Where lay the justice of thy judge in this?—
Not that I asked for pity! that had been
As fire unto the scalded or dry bread
Unto the famished fallen 'mid the sands!
But all your actions said that I was wrong,
But how, I know not and have ceased to care;
Still standing like one stricken blind at noon,
Who gropes and fumbles, feeling all grow strange
That once was so familiar; cursing God
Who locks him in with darkness and despair.—
Your judgment had been juster had it had
A lesser love than mine to judge.—O love,
Where lay the justice of thy judge in this?—
‘If thou hadst praised thy God as long
As thou hast praised a woman's eyes,
Perhaps thou hadst not suffered wrong,
As now, and sat with sighs:
But, through thy prayer and praise made strong,
Perhaps thou hadst grown wise.
As thou hast praised a woman's eyes,
153
As now, and sat with sighs:
But, through thy prayer and praise made strong,
Perhaps thou hadst grown wise.
‘If thou hadst bade thy God be more
Than I, thy life had not been sad;
His love to thee had not been poor
As mine. But thou wast mad,
And cam'st, a beggar, to my door,
And had more than I had.
Than I, thy life had not been sad;
His love to thee had not been poor
As mine. But thou wast mad,
And cam'st, a beggar, to my door,
And had more than I had.
‘If thou hadst taught me how to love,
Nor played with love as monarchs play,
My heart had learned right soon enough,
From thine, love's lowlier way.
But all thy love stood far above,
Nor touched my soul to sway.’
Nor played with love as monarchs play,
My heart had learned right soon enough,
From thine, love's lowlier way.
But all thy love stood far above,
Nor touched my soul to sway.’
| The poems of Madison Cawein | |