Classic Poem

Once these women whom the good despise
And the bad despise and whom
Only Death cherishes, were little girls,
Little mothers to dolls;
Longing to be loved.
My sisters do you remember that call, insistent,
Which you did not understand?
The willows feel the persuasion of Spring
Which they also do not understand;
Yet become proud with silver studs
And golden tassels, which they hang out
As signs of their fruitfulness, inviting the bees.
So have you come to us, my beautiful sisters,
Out of the Unknown, as the white wind-flower
From the dark Earth in the deep forest.
The ages deliver you to us white with purity,
But men violate the temple and pollute
The sacramental bowl.
Nature has named Love holy, pure in all things.
But Man has mumbled his fetich Marriage
As holier than love —
So you who trusted love rather than a fetich
Have been used and despised, despised and used.
The sacramental vessel made a basin for the washing of filthy hands.
The love-flame become a lamp to light the way to a sordid house.
Do men who use you say, " Here are the altars of Life
" Which we will approach only at the call of the Lord?
" And at which we will worship reverently? "
When they have used you, corrupt with their
Vile morality they spit upon you
And push you, dishonored, into the street;
They spill the wine and pollute the altar.
Man has broken the statue
Which stands in the portico of the temple.
Jesus so harsh to the Highpriest,
So rebellious to Law and sacred Order,
So pitiful to the publican, the harlot and the sinner,
I would you could behold this Christianity.
And see the chilly temples of ugliness
That hold your corpse.
The stones of the temples are dead
And within is — Death.