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Poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall

The Chosen

CALLED to a way too high for me, I lean
Out from my narrow window o'er the street,
and know the fields I cannot see are green,
And guess the songs I cannot hear are sweet.

Break up the vision round me, Lord, and thrust
Me from Thy side, unhoused without the bars,
For all my heart is hungry for the dust
And all my soul is weary of the stars.

I would seek out a little roof instead,
A little lamp to make my darkness brave.
'For though she heal a multitude,' Love said,
'Herself she cannot save.'

Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall

Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall's other poems:
  1. The Hillmans Lass
  2. The Green Month
  3. The Immortal
  4. Wanderlied
  5. O Silver Rose

Poems of the other poets with the same name:

  • Thomas Hardy The Chosen ("A woman for whom great gods might strive!")
  • Ella Wilcox The Chosen ("They stood before the Angel at the gate")

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