v.
What beauty e'er could grow from such a weed
By such a mean and impoverished start
As would poison kindness, and with its seed
Draw vile succor from her peaceful heart.
What sprouts from this love, this meager garden?
Dandelion, crabgrass, brown slimy worm?
Sunbaked earth growing cracked as it hardens
Love barren, base as the lowest of germs.
I have tilled this ground and sowed in this field
And longingly gazed its infertile soil
And reaped from it such an unfruitful yield
As to grow lonely and spent of the toil.
Where she goes, now, is not mine to follow
My roots have grown deep and heart grown hollow.
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