I do not think your sin as grave As is your punishment, Knowing but priced caress Without a holy tenderness, beyond The swift hot quest of instant's sharp desires . . . Insentient, that repel, and numb To moving death. For you must close your eyes, and heart Lest you recall An April when white blossoms caught your hair, When dew-kissed hands, as he . . . Who raced to meet you, in still sacristy Of candled stars, of incensed air . . . . . . Spoke eagerly those words Grown silent over hurried years. I know you do not paint your lips for them But for the call of bread . . . Beneath your flaming robe One walks as dead. Worse condemnation sits in your own soul Than any greed may give, or after-god . . . With dreams and hope drugged, Leaden, lying in Your breast . . . a stone, This, worse than sin! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FOREST FLOWERS by ROBERT FROST DOWN BY THE CARIB SEA: 3. TEESTAY by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON DOMESDAY BOOK: ARCHIBALD LOWELL by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: AMI GREEN by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE NEW APOCRYPHA: THE FIG TREE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |