Many Voices

And the house of welcome, known yet unseen;
The wall that conceals
And the faith that reveals.

THE DEATH OF AGNES

Now that the sunlight dies in my eyes,
And the moonlight grows in my hair,
I who was never very wise,
Never was very fair,
Virgin and martyr all my life,
What has life left to give
Me—who was never mother nor wife,
Never got leave to live?

Nothing of life could I clasp or claim,
Nothing could steal or save.
So when you come to carve my name,
Give me life in my grave.
To keep me warm when I sleep alone
A lie is little to give;
Call me “Magdalen” on my stone,
Though I died and did not live.

IN TROUBLE

It’s all for nothing: I’ve lost him now.
I suppose it had to be;
But oh, I never thought it of him,
Nor he never thought it of me.
And all for a kiss on your evening out,
And a field where the grass was down . . .
And he ’as gone to God-knows-where,
And I may go on the town.

The worst of all was the thing he said
The night that he went away;
He said he’d ’a married me right enough
If I hadn’t ’a been so gay.
Me—gay!  When I’d cried, and I’d asked him not,
But he said he loved me so;
An’ whatever he wanted seemed right to me . . .
An’ how was a girl to know?

Well, the river is deep, and drowned folk sleep sound,
An’ it might be the best to do;
But when he made me a light-o’-love
He made me a mother too.
I’ve had enough sin to last my time,
If ’twas sin as I got it by,
But it ain’t no sin to stand by his kid
And work for it till I die.

But oh! the long days and the death-long nights
When I feel it move and turn,
And cry alone in my single bed
And count what a girl can earn
To buy the baby the bits of things
He ought to ha’ bought, by rights;
And wonder whether he thinks of Us . . .
And if he sleeps sound o’ nights.

GRATITUDE

I found a starving cat in the street:
It cried for food and a place by the fire.
I carried it home, and I strove to meet
The claims of its desire.

And since its desire was a little fish,
A little hay and a little milk,
I gave it cream in a silver dish
And a basket lined with silk.

And when we came to the grateful pause
When it should have fawned on the hand that fed,
It turned to a devil all teeth and claws,
Scratched me and bit me and fled.

To pay for the fish and the milk and the hay
With a purr had been an easy task:
But its hate and my blood were required to pay
For the gifts that it did not ask.

AT THE LAST

Where are you—you whose loving breath
Alone can stay my soul from death?
The world’s so wide, I seek it through,
Yet—dare I dream to win to you?
Perhaps your dear desirèd feet
Pass me in this grey muddy street.
Your face, it may be, has its shrine
In that dull house that’s next to mine.
But I believe, O Life, O Fate,
That when I call on Death and wait
One moment at the unclosing gate
I shall turn back for one last gaze
Along the trampled, sordid ways,
And in the sunset see at last,