II

I had a mistress; I loved her. She left me with memories bitter, Corroding, eating my heart As the acid eats into the steel

Etching the portrait triumphant. Intolerable, indelible, Never to be effaced. A wife was mine to my heart,

Beautiful flower of my garden, Lily I worshipped by day, Scented rose of my nights. Now the night wind sighing

Blows white rose petals only Over the bed where she sleeps Dreamless alone. I had a son; I loved him.

Mother of God, bear witness How all my manhood loved him As thy womanhood loved thy Son! When he was grown to his manhood

He crucified my heart, And even as it hung bleeding He laughed with his bold companions, Mocked and turned away

With laughter into the night. Those three I loved and lost; But there was one who loved me With all the fire of her heart.

Mine was the sacred altar Where she burnt her life for my worship. She was my slave, my servant; Mine all she had, all she was,

All she could suffer, could be. That was the love of my life, I did not say, “She loves me”; I was so used to her love

I never asked its name, Till, feeling the wind blow cold Where all the doors were left open, And seeing a fireless hearth

And the garden deserted and weed-grown That once was full of flowers for me, I said, “What has changed? What is it That has made all the clocks stop?”

Thus I asked and they answered: “It is thy mother who is dead.” And now I am alone. My son, too, some day will stand

Here, where I stand and weep. He too will weep, knowing too late The love that wrapped round his life. Dear God spare him this:

Let him never know how I loved him, For he was always weak. He could not endure as I can. Mother, my dear, ask God

To grant me this, for my son!