Page:Poems by Isaac Rosenberg (1922).djvu/175

 And touched her father, mother, even now Grim-hovering in her home,

Where fevered lay Her wasting brother in a cold, bleak room, Which theirs would be no longer than a day, And then—the streets and doom.

Lord! Lord! Dear Lord! I knew that life was bitter, but my soul Recoiled, as anguish-smitten by sharp sword, Grieving such body's dole.

Then grief gave place To a strange pulsing rapture as she spoke; For I could catch the glimpses of God's grace, And a desire awoke

To take this trust And warm and gladden it with love's new fires, Burning the past to ashes and to dust Through purified desires.

We walked our way, One way hewn for us from the birth of Time; For we had wandered into Love's strange clime Through ways sin waits to slay.