Part 9 (1/2)

THE UNWED MOTHER TO THE WIFE

I had been almost happy for an hour, Lost to the world that knew me in the park Among strange faces; while my little girl Leaped with the squirrels, chirruped with the birds And with the sunlight glowed. She was so dear, So beautiful, so sweet; and for the time The rose of love, shorn of its thorn of shame, Bloomed in my heart. Then suddenly you pa.s.sed.

I sat alone upon the public bench; You, with your lawful husband, rode in state; And when your eyes fell on me and my child, They were not eyes, but daggers, poison tipped.

G.o.d! how good women slaughter with a look!

And, like cold steel, your glance cut through my heart, Struck every petal from the rose of love And left the ragged stalk alive with thorns.

My little one came running to my side And called me Mother. It was like a blow Between the eyes; and made me sick with pain.

And then it seemed as if each bird and breeze Took up the word, and changed its syllables From Mother into Magdalene; and cried My shame to all the world.

It was your eyes Which did all this. But listen now to me (Not you alone, but all the barren wives Who, like you, flaunt their virtue in the face Of fallen women): I do chance to know The crimes you think are hidden from all men (Save one who took your gold and sold his skill And jeopardized his name for your base ends).

I know how you have sunk your soul in sense Like any wanton; and refused to bear The harvest of your pleasure-planted seed; I know how you have crushed the tender bud Which held a soul; how you have blighted it; And made the holy miracle of birth A wicked travesty of G.o.d's design; Yea, many buds, which might be blossoms now And beautify your selfish, arid life, Have been destroyed, because you chose to keep The aimless freedom, and the purposeless, Self-seeking liberty of childless wives.

I was an untaught girl. By nature led, By love and pa.s.sion blinded, I became An unwed mother. You, an honoured wife, Refuse the crown of motherhood, defy The laws of nature, and fling baby souls Back in the face of G.o.d. And yet you dare Call me a sinner, and yourself a saint; And all the world smiles on you, and its doors Swing wide at your approach.

I stand outside.

Surely there must be higher courts than earth, Where you and I will some day meet and be Weighed by a larger justice.

FATHER AND SON

My grand-dame, vigorous at eighty-one, Delights in talking of her only son, My gallant father, long since dead and gone.

'Ah, but he was the lad!'

She says, and sighs, and looks at me askance.

How well I read the meaning of that glance - 'Poor son of such a dad; Poor weakling, dull and sad.'

I could, but would not tell her bitter truth About my father's youth.

She says: 'Your father laughed his way through earth: He laughed right in the doctor's face at birth, Such joy of life he had, such founts of mirth.

Ah, what a lad was he!'

And then she sighs. I feel her silent blame, Because I brought her nothing but his name.

Because she does not see Her wors.h.i.+pped son in me.

I could, but would not, speak in my defence, Anent the difference.

She says: 'He won all prizes in his time: He overworked, and died before his prime.

At high ambition's door I lay the crime.

Ah, what a lad he was!'

Well, let her rest in that deceiving thought, Of what avail to say, 'His death was brought By broken s.e.xual laws, The ancient sinful cause.'

I could, but would not, tell the good old dame The story of his shame.

I could say: 'I am crippled, weak, and pale, Because my father was an unleashed male.

Because he ran so fast, I halt and fail (Ah, yes, he was the lad), Because he drained each cup of sense-delight I must go thirsting, thirsting, day and night.