A Parable of Pain

My eyes were weary, heavy, and red,
Pain in my breast had made her bed,
Instead of Beauty that I had wed.

I said, ' Dark concubine of man,
Giving him child when none else can,
When shall he take from thee the ban?

'When shall he call thee from the wild
Of things sore hated and defiled,
And cherish Ishmael, thy child?

'When shall he hold thee to his heart,
Sad Hagar, cast from him apart,
And know thee for the mate thou art?'

And Pain, abjured so oft, replied,
'Fear not—I shall not be denied
Too long from him by any bride.

'My presence he again must house,
When Beauty fails, since it can rouse
Him from ill-broken hopes and vows.

'For only by embracing me
Can the strength in him be set free
To shape him a sure destiny.

'Only from my uneasy breast
Shall he go forth upon the quest
Of greatness he had else not guessed!'