Poem by Madison Julius Cawein

The Blind God

I know not if she be unkind,
 If she have faults I do not care;
Search through the world - where will you find
A face like hers, a form, a mind?
 I love her to despair.

If she be cruel, cruelty
 Is a great virtue, I will swear;
If she be proud - then pride must be
Akin to Heaven's divinest three -
 I love her to despair.

Why speak to me of that and this?
 All you may say weighs not a hair!
In her, - whose lips I may not kiss, -
To me naught but perfection is! -
 I love her to despair.

1. In the Mountains
2. The Iron Cross
3. Communicants
4. Gertrude
5. Riders in the Night

Isaac Rosenberg The Blind God ("Streaked with immortal blasphemies")

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