Classic Poem

God—I can scarcely grasp it yet,
It is too black to be;
The ways are darkness, fear-beset,
And not a hand is reached to me—
I knew the world might leave me thus,
But of all others—she!

If I could only curse and smite
If I could only rail—
But here I sit alone and write
The thoughts that make me gasp and pale;
Wild and blaspheming things I write,
And watch the sunset fail.

I watch the scattered little swarm
Troop homeward through the mists,
And there a boy has claimed an arm
Of one who smiles and scarce resists—
How long until she plays him false,
I think, and clench my fists.

And here, another happy two
Come talking secretly.
Oh lad, before this month is through,
Whose will her fluttering glances be—
Love lightly then, with laughing lips,
But never love like me.

Lest all day in a cankered mind
Distrust war with despair;
Lest evil conquer, and you find
In eyes that once seemed clean and fair
Deceit, the mockery of Love—
And falseness everywhere.

God—I can scarcely grasp it yet,
It is too black to be;
The ways are darkness, fear-beset,
And not a hand is reached to me—
I knew the world might leave me thus
But of all others—She!