All veiled in black, with faces hid from sight, <br />Crouching together in the jolting cart, <br />What forms are these that pass alone, apart, <br />In abject apathy to life's delight? <br />The motley crowd, fantastically bright, <br />Shifts gorgeous through each dazzling street and mart; <br />Only these sisters of the suffering heart <br />Strike discords in this symphony of light. <br /> <br />Most wretched women! whom your prophet dooms <br />To take love's penalties without its prize! <br />Yes; you shall bear the unborn in your wombs, <br />And water dusty death with streaming eyes, <br />And, wailing, beat your breasts among the tombs; <br />But souls ye have none fit for Paradise.<br /><br />Mathilde Blind<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mourning-women-2/
