And to the mendicant stars and the moon-nun,

Be holy still, till East to West has run,

And till no sacrificial suffering

On any shrine is left to tell life's sting.

[Pg 29]

[Pg 29]

THE BARREN WOMAN

(Benares)

At the burning-ghat, O Kali,

Mother divine and dread,

See, I am waiting with open lips

Over the newly dead.

I am childless and barren; pity

And let me catch the soul

Of him who here on the kindled bier

Pays to Existence toll.

See, by his guileless body

I cook the bread and eat.

Give me the soul he does not need

Now, for conception sweet.

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