Lady, Lady (1925)

Lady, Lady, I saw your face, 

Dark as night withholding a star . . .

The chisel fell, or it might have been

You had borne so long the yoke of men. 



Lady, Lady, I saw your hands, 

Twisted, awry, like crumpled roots, 

Bleached poor white in a sudsy tub, 

Wrinkled and drawn from your rub-a-dub. 



Lady, Lady, I saw your heart, 

And altared there in its darksome place 

Were the tongues of flame the ancients knew, 

Where the good God sits to spangle through.