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Poems

By the author of "The Patience of Hope" [i.e. Dora Greenwell]
  

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FORSAKEN.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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217

FORSAKEN.

Martyrs, through fire and steel
Have felt the tracking of the steadfast eye
Of faithful friend or kind disciple nigh
That strengthened them; beside the cruel wheel
Hath Woman waited, wiping from a face
Beloved, the damps of anguish; kings in chase
Upon the mountains held from day to day,
Have leaned on peasants scorning to betray
The baffled hope, the head discrownèd: nay,
A hand unseen upon a tyrant's tomb
Hath scattered flowers; so strong above disgrace,
Despair, and death, rise human hearts; of whom—
King, Martyr, Malefactor—is it said
That all forsook him, all forsook and fled,
Save of One only? Human love forsakes
Yet is not all forsaken! He that takes
This drear pre-eminence of woe, alone
Forsaketh never—never! He hath known
That pang too well; O Saviour, with Thine own
Too little seemed it for Thy love to share
All bitter draughts, so hast Thou bid this cup
Pass from our souls for ever, drinking up
Its wormwood and its gall, our lips to spare.