|
|
I breathed a word that grief had wrought. It winged its flight into the air, Then pierced the haunts and souls of men, And left its tears and laughter there. It was a word flung from a heart That knew but misery and tears, — A word that knew its lowly birth In throes of agony and fears. Though nursed by suffering and trial, It spread and flourished in its flight, And wondering I beheld it glow, Adorned in sparkling jewels bright. And soon upon a throne of gold It ruled in radiance and might, — The hope and faith of sunless hearts, The darkened bosom's torch of light. I marvelled at that vision fair, The offspring of my passion's fires; Resistless was its beauty as It filled men's souls with strange desires. I wondered much, and smiled to see How over souls of men it reigned, How it had sprung from misery That birth with tears of blood had stained — A solitary word of woe, Abused, objected and profaned. |
