TAKE me to some waste of being,
Virgin spaces, dark and far,
Seas no vessel ever burdened,
Skies that never held a star;
There, my inmost soul all weeping,
I may loose for Being’s keeping
Strange, abysmal thoughts that are.
Let me stand, alone, unguarded,
On some crag where fierce floods beat;
Let hoarse tempest crash and echo,
Storm-fire lick about my feet;
In the hollow air of thunder
I may shout my soul asunder,
One pent syllable repeat.
Let me sink where waves are deepest,
Die from memory and air;
Let effacing billows deafen
Question, when I lived, or where;
Only first be mine to murmur
Thrice, and ever fiercely firmer,
For I must–one life-pent prayer.
(Louisa Sarah Bevington)
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