The Blind Tramp
Her darkness fell, before her day was done;
But now, profounder light’s illiterate cloud,
She needs no eyes, she learns to follow alone
The drifting see who random flower is dead.
A footsore wanderer wearing the first snow
This woman, like the Year has sometime sinned,
Was never entire with innocence till now;
Her griefs forgiven beneath the seamless ground.
Here swelled the oat-fields/ water-silver sail
Where now the granite winds grind out her fate;
The whitening truth knows neither Sporing nor Fall:
Only the mind’s vision immaculate.
She loves no landmark now, no singular tree,
And keeps no tryst with memory, none with hope.
Some cove r life to lose it; some agree
With Christ at last, like dew the sun draws up.
