THE BARREN WOMAN

At the burning-ghat, O Kali,

Mother divine and dread,

See, I am waiting with open lips

Over the newly dead.

I am childless and barren; pity

And let me catch the soul

Of him who here on the kindled bier

Pays to Existence toll.

See, by his guileless body

I cook the bread and eat.

Give me the soul he does not need

Now, for conception sweet.

Hear, or my lord and husband

Shall send me from his door

And take to his side a fairer bride

Whose breast shall be less poor.

Oft I have sought thy temples,

By Ganges now I seek,

Where ashes of all the dead are strewn,

And is my prayer not meek?

The ghats and the shrines and the people

That bathe in the holy Stream

Have heard my cry, O goddess high,

Shall I not have my dream?

The women of Oudh and Jaipur

Look on my face with scorn.

Children about their garments cling,

To me shall none be born?

The death-fires quiver faster,

O hasten, goddess, a sign,

That from this doom into my womb

Thy pledge has passed, divine.

Woe! there is naught but ashes,

Now, and the weepers go.

Lone on the ghat they leave me, lone,

With but the River's flow.

Kali, I ask not jewels

Nor justice, beauty nor shrift,

But for the lowest woman's right,

A child — tho I die of the gift!