The Tired Woman
O my Lover, blind me,
Take your cords and bind me,
Then drive me through a silent land,
With the compelling of your open hand!
There is too much of sound, too much for sight,
In thunderous lightnings of this night,
There is too much of freedom for my feet,
Bruised by the stones of this disordered street.
I know that there is sweetest rest for me,
In silent fields, and in captivity.
O Lover! drive me through a stilly land,
With the compelling of your open hand.
Anna Wickham