Seeing I have a breast in common,
I must share in that shame,
Since from the womb of some poor woman
Each evil one came—
Every hot and blundering thought,
Every hag-rid will,
And every haut king pride-distraught
That drove men out to kill.
A woman's womb did fashion him,
Her bosom was his nurse,
And many women's eyes are dim
To see their sons a curse.
Had I the wit some women have
To one such I would say,
"Think you this love the good Lord gave
Is yours to take away?"
O Hand divine that for a sign
Didst bend the rose-red bow,
Betokening wrath was no more Thine
With man's Cain-branded brow—
What now, O Lord, shouldst Thou accord
To such a shameful brood?
A bow as crimson as the sword
Which men have soakt in blood.
ii
I cannot see the grass
Or feel the wind blowing,
But I think of brother and brother
And hot blood flowing.
The whole world akin,
And I, an alien,
Walk branded with the sin
And the blood-guilt of men.
And often I cry
In my sharp distress,
It were better to die
Than know such bitterness.
iii
The Lord of Life He did ordain
How this world should run,
That Love should call thro' joy and pain
Two natures to be one;
Now jags across the high God's plan
Division like a scar,
For this is true, that He made man,
But man made war.
Had men the dower of teeth and claws
And not a grace beside them?
Were they given wit to know the laws
And hard hearts to outride them?
What drove them turn the sweet green earth
Into a puddle of blood?
What drove them drown our simple mirth
In salt tear-flood?