Grace Fallow Norton

A GLEAM of gold in gloom and gray,

A call from out a fairer day.

O pang at heart and ebbing blood!

(Hush, bread and salt should be thy mood,

Stern woman of the Brotherhood.)

Clamor of golden tones and tunes,

Hunt of faint horns, breath of bassoons;

They wound my soul again; I lie

Face earthward in fresh agony.

Oh, give me joy before I die!

World, world, I could have danced for thee,

And I had tales and minstrelsy;

Kept fairer, I had been more good.

(Hush, bread and salt should be thy mood,

Soul of the breadless Brotherhood.)

Some thou hast formed to play thy part,

The bold, the cold, the hard of heart.

Thy rue upon my lips I toss.

Rose was my right. O world, the loss,

When Greek limbs writhe upon the cross!