Анжела Морган (Angela Morgan)

The Poet

Why hast thou breathed, O God, upon my thoughts
And tuned my pulse to thy high melodies,
Lighting my soul with love, my heart with flame,
Thrilling my ear with songs I cannot keep—
Only to set me in the market-place
Amid the clamor of the bartering throng,
Whose ears are deaf to my impassioned plea,
Whose hearts are heedless of the word I bring?

And yet—dear God, forgive! I will sing on.
I will sing on until that shining day
When one perchance—one only it may be—
Shall turn aside from out the sordid way,
Listening with eager ears that understand.
Until that day—thy day—help me to bear
The hurt of cold indifference and the pain
Of seeing all the multitude rush by,
Drowning thy music with their cry for gold!