Menken, Adah Isaacs
If my weak puny hand could reach up and rend the sun113from his throne to-day, them were the same but a little
thing for me to do.
It is the Far of the great Unattainable, that feeds the
passion we feel for a star.
Looking up so high, worshiping so silently, we tramp
out the hearts of flowers that lift their bright heads for us
and die alone.
If only the black, steep grave gaped between us, I feel
that I could over-sweep all its gulfs.
I believe that love may unfold its white wings even in
the red bosom of Hell.
I know that its truth can measure the distance to
Heaven with one thought.
Then be content to let me go, for these pale hands
shall reach up from the grace, and still draw the living
waters of Lover's well.
That is better, surer than climbing with bruised feet
and bleeding hands to plead with the world for what is
Then straighten out the crumpled length of my hair,
and loose all the flowers one by one.
God is not unjust.