Page:Poetry, a magazine of verse, Volume 1 (October 1912-March 1913).djvu/10

POETRY: A dark and a weary thing is come on our head— To search obedience out in the bosom of sin, To listen deep for love when thunders the curse; For O my jove, behold where the Lord hath planted In every star in the midst His dangerous Tree! Still I must pluck thereof and bring unto thee, Saying, "The coolness for which all night we have panted; Taste of the goodly thing, I have tasted first!" Bringing us noway coolness, but burning thirst, Giving us noway peace, but implacable strife, Loosing upon us the wounding joy and the wasting sorrow of life!

I am the Woman, ark of the Law and sacred arm to uphear it, Heathen trumpet to overthrow and idolatrous sword to shear it: Yea, she whose arm was round the neck of the morning star at song, Is she who kneeleth now in the dust and cries at the secret door, "Open to me, O sleeping mother! The gate is heavy and strong. "Open to me, I am come at last; be wroth with thy child no more. "Let me lie down with thee there in the dark, and be slothful with thee as before!" William Vaughan Moody