Page:Artemis to Arctaeon.djvu/44

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MARGARET OF CORTONA
Since, now I name it, it draws near to me
With such dear reassurance in its eyes,
And takes your place beside me. . .
Nay, I tell you,
Fra Paolo, I have cried on all the saints——
If this be devil's prompting, let them drown it
In Alleluias! Yet not one replies.
And, for the Christ there—is He silent too?
Your Christ? Poor father; you that have but one,
And that one silent———how I pity you!
He will not answer? Will not help you cast
The devil out? But hangs there on the wall,
Blind wood and bone———?
How if I call on Him——
I, whom He talks with, as the town attests?
If ever prayer hath ravished me so high
That its wings failed and dropped me in Thy breast,
Christ, I adjure Thee! By that naked hour
Of innermost commixture, when my soul
Contained Thee as the paten holds the host,
Judge Thou alone between this priest and me;
Nay, rather, Lord, between my past and present,
Thy Margaret and that other's—whose she is
By right of salvage—and whose call should follow!
Thine? Silent still.——— Or his, who stooped to her,

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