Night is the mother of stars,
And wind the mother of foam—
The world is brimming with beauty,
But I must stay at home.
The Broken Field
My soul is a dark ploughed field
In the cold rain;
My soul is a broken field
Ploughed by pain.
Where grass and bending flowers
Were growing,
The field lies broken now
For another sowing.
Great Sower when you tread
My field again,
Scatter the furrows there
With better grain.
The Unseen
Death went up the hall
Unseen by every one,
Trailing twilight robes
Past the nurse and the nun.
He paused at every door
And listened to the breath
Of those who did not know
How near they were to Death.
Death went up the hall
Unseen by nurse and nun;
He passed by many a door—
But he entered one.
A Prayer