Beneath the painted roof,
The people pray an' sing.
I stand here outside,
Where barren branches swing,
I hear the she-oaks drip,
I hear the tree-trunks strain.
The lamps are ruby-red --
My shoes let in the rain.
O, heart, my bleeding heart!
The cruel wind that moans,
An' lifts this tattered shawl
To chill my aching bones!
"O, God of Love," they sing.
"He is the King of Peace!"
I beat my withered breasts,
An' hear the anthems cease.
I hear the preacher say,
"A sparrow shall not fall
Unto the ground, unless
He know. He knoweth all."
O God -- what God is this?
I laugh unto the moon;
While chiller blows the wind
An' soft the she-oaks croon.
I wonder if He knows
That he who was my own,
He who was part of me,
My breathing flesh an' bone,
Lies dead! An' if He hears
Before the morn has broke,
About the half-dug grave
The hungry ravens croak.
O, heart, my bleeding heart!
You only know the pain --
None else! ... I go my way;
My shoes let in the rain.
First published in The Triad, 10 April 1918;
and later in
England and Other Verses by Myra Morris, 1918.
