IN the dark womb where I began <br />My mother's life made me a man. <br />Through all the months of human birth <br />Her beauty fed my common earth. <br />I cannot see, nor breathe, nor stir, <br />But through the death of some of her. <br /> <br />Down in the darkness of the grave <br />She cannot see the life she gave. <br />For all her love, she cannot tell <br />Whether I use it ill or well, <br />Nor knock at dusty doors to find <br />Her beauty dusty in the mind. <br /> <br />If the grave's gates could be undone, <br />She would not know her little son, <br />I am so grown. If we should meet <br />She would pass by me in the street, <br />Unless my soul's face let her see <br />My sense of what she did for me. <br /> <br />What have I done to keep in mind <br />My debt to her and womankind? <br />What woman's happier life repays <br />Her for those months of wretched days? <br />For all my mouthless body leeched <br />Ere Birth's releasing hell was reached? <br /> <br />What have I done, or tried, or said <br />In thanks to that dear woman dead? <br />Men triumph over women still, <br />Men trample women's rights at will, <br />And man's lust roves the world untamed. <br /> <br />* * * * <br /> <br />O grave, keep shut lest I be shamed.<br /><br />John Masefield<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/c-l-m/
