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35
THE WOMAN AND THE FLOWER
I came into a garret where one layA woman dying: round her children starved
And piteously entreated her for bread.
Her husband in the tavern drank and sang.
Scarce could she speak, but on the coverlid
The veinéd hand a wild flower held and clasped.
I spoke to her of help, of life restored,
Of hunger satisfied: she answered me:
“The hunger that I have is for the flower;
A deeper hunger than for any food.
Why was I given this in my life so late?
I did not know such things were in the world.
Its colour kills me and the scent it gives.
I could not rise up in this weary world
Again; I have seen this and I long to go
After it, follow it somewhere thro' the dark.
So soft, so bright it claims me: let me die.”
That night she died; the stumbling husband found
Her cold, but in her hand fixed was the flower.
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