The Poetry Corner

The Song Of The Young Page

By Theodosia Garrison

All that I know of love I see In eyes that never look at me; All that I know of love I guess But from another's happiness. A beggar at the window I, Who, famished, looks on revelry; A slave who lifts his torch to guide The happy bridegroom to his bride. My granddam told me once of one Whom all her village spat upon, Seeing the church from out its breast Had cast him cursed and unconfessed. An outcast he who dared not take The wafer that God's vicars break, But dull-eyed watched his neighbours pass With shining faces from the Mass. Oh thou, my brother, take my hand, More than one God hath blessed and banned And hidden from man's anguished glance The glory of his countenance. All that I know of love I see In eyes that never look at me; All that I know of love I guess But from another's happiness.