The Other

I am the Other—I who come
To heal the wound she gave,
The wound that struck your fond words dumb,
And left your world a grave.

What though you loved her—I love you,
And so the most is said,
Here is my yearning heart, still true
To yours her frailty bled.

(But oh! the bitter grief that I
Kept hushed, the wild despair,
When your dear eyes had passed me by
To find her face so fair.)

Now she hath gone her cruel way,
And I am come again,
To seek among the husks to-day,
For one sweet golden grain.

Because in me Love’s strength is great,
Too great for pride, or sin,
I knock upon your heart’s barred gate,
And pray you let me in.

Ethna Carbery