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. Dawn in the Alleghanies
2. Dithyrambics
3. The Festival of the Aisne
4. Solstice
5. The Moon Spirit

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

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