"Now of myself a word. In years to come These words I write will seem all truth to you, Their prism colors, violet and red, Will fade away and leave them in the light Arranged and reasonable and wholly true. Then you will read the words: I found you, dear, After a life of pain; and you will see My spirit like a blossom that you watch From budding to unfolding, knowing thus How it matured from day to day. I say My life has been all pain, I see at first A father and a mother linked in strife. Am thrown upon my girlhood's strength to teach, Earn money for my schooling, would know French; I studied Greek a little, gave it up, Distractions, duties, came too fast for me. I longed to sing, took lessons, lack of money Ended the lessons. But above it all My heart was like an altar lit with flame, Aspired to heaven, asked for sacrifice, For incense to be bright, more beautiful For beauty's sake. And in my soul's despair, And just to use this vital flame, I turned To God, the church. You must be stone to hear Such words as these and not relent, an image Of basalt which I pray to not to see And not to hear! But listen! look at me, Did I become a drifter, wholly fail? Did I become a common woman, turn To common life and ways? Can you dispute My eyes were fixed upon a lovelier life, Have never gaze withdrawn from loveliness? Did I give up, or break, turn to the flesh, Pleasures, the solace of the senses--No! Where some take drink to ease their hurts and dull Their disappointments, I renewed my will To sacrifice and service, work, who saw These things in essence may be drink as well, And bring the end, oblivion while you live, But bring supremacy instead of failure, Collapse, disgust and fears. Think what you will Of me for Gregory Wenner, and imagine The worst you may, I stand here as I am, With my life proven! And to end the pain I went to nurse the soldiers in the war With thoughts that if I died in service, good! Not that I gladly give up life, I love it. But life must be surrendered; let it be In service, as some end it up in drink, Or opium or lust. Beloved heart, I know my will is stronger than my vision, That passion masters judgment; that my love For love and life and beauty are too much For gifts like mine; I know that I am dumb, Songless, without articulate words--but still My very dumbness is a kind of speech Which some day will flood down your deafened rocks, And sweep my meaning over you."