I have shut my little sister in from life and light (For a rose, for a ribbon, for a wreath across my hair), I have made her restless feet still until the night, Locked from sweets of summer and fine wild spring air; I who ranged the meadowlands, free from sun to sun Free to sing and pull the buds and watch the far wings fly, I have bound my sister till her playing-time was done— Oh, my little sister, was it I? Was it I? I have robbed my sister of her day of maidenhood (For a robe, for a feather, for a trinket's restless spark), Shut from Love till dusk shall fall, how shall she know good, How shall she go scatheless through the sin-lit dark? I who could be innocent, I who could be gay, I who could have love and mirth before the light went by. I have put my sister in her mating-time away— Sister, my young sister, was it I? Was it I? I have robbed my sister of the lips against her breast, (For a coin, for the weaving of my children's lace and lawn), Feet that pace beside the loom, hands that cannot rest— How can she know motherhood, whose strength is gone? I who took no heed of her, starved and labour-worn. I against whose placid heart my sleepy gold-heads lie, Round my path they cry to me, little souls unborn— God of Life! Creator! It was I! It was I! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PUSSY-WILLOW TIME by ROBERT FROST TO WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON WOMAN by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE BOOK OF STONES AND LILIES by AMY LOWELL SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: EPILOGUE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |