I, being born a woman and distressed By all the needs and notions of my kind.

I, being born a woman and distressed By all the needs and notions of my kind.

But you were something more than young and sweet And fair, - and the long year remembers you.

I had a little sorrow, Born of a little sin.

For my omniscience paid I toll In infinite remorse of soul. All sin was of my sinning, all Atoning mine, and mine the gall Of all regret. Mine was the weight Of every brooded wrong, the hate That stood behind each envious thrust, Mine every greed, mine every lust. And all the while for every grief, Each suffering, I craved relief With individual desire, – Craved all in vain! And felt fierce fire About a thousand people crawl; Perished with each, — then mourned for all!

Beauty never slumbers; All is in her name; But the rose remembers The dust from which it came.

I have loved badly, loved the great Too soon, withdrawn my words too late; And eaten in an echoing hall Alone and from a chipped plate The words that I withdrew too late.