Our sister sayeth such and such,
And we must bow to her behests;
Our sister toileth overmuch,
Our little maid that hath no breasts.
Alone upon the housetops to the North
I turn and watch the lightning in the sky—
The glamour of thy footsteps in the North.
Come back to me, Beloved, or I die.
Below my feet the still bazar is laid—
Far, far below the weary camels lie—
The camels and the captives of thy raid.
Come back to me, Beloved, or I die!
My father’s wife is old and harsh with years,
And drudge of all my father’s house am I—
My bread is sorrow and my drink is tears.
Come back to me. Beloved, or I die!
And they were stronger hands than mine
That digged the Ruby from the earth—
More cunning brains that made it worth
The large desire of a king,
And stouter hearts that through the brine
Went down the perfect Pearl to bring.
Lo, I have wrought in common clay
Rude figures of a rough-hewn race,
Since pearls strew not the market-place
In this my town of banishment,
Where with the shifting dust I play,
And eat the bread of discontent.
Yet is there life in that I make.
O thou who knowest, turn and see—
As thou hast power over me
So have I power over these,
Because I wrought them for thy sake,
And breathed in them mine agonies.
Small mirth was in the making—now
I lift the cloth that cloaks the clay,
And, wearied, at thy feet I lay
My wares, ere I go forth to sell.
The long bazar will praise, but thou—
Heart of my heart—have I done well?
If I were hanged on the highest hill, Mother o’
mine, O mother o’ mine! I know whose love
would follow me still, Mother o’ mine, O
mother o’ mine!
If I were drowned in the deepest sea, Mother o’
mine, O mother o’ mine! I know whose tears
would come down to me, Mother o’ mine, O
mother o’ mine!
If I were damned of body and soul,
I know whose prayers would make me whole,
Mother o’ mine, O mother o’ mine!
She dropped the bar, she shot the bolt, she fed the
fire anew,
For she heard a whimper under the sill and a great
grey paw came through.
The fresh flame comforted the hut and shone on the
roof-beam,
And the Only Son lay down again and dreamed that he
dreamed a dream.
The last ash fell from the withered log with the click
of a falling spark,
And the Only Son woke up again, and called across
the dark:—
’Now was I born of womankind and laid in a mother’s
breast?
