• It shall not yet recall the time
    Of bitter cries, regretful woes:
    Sustained unto the crimson bud
    That clings between the mortal way.

    It shall not yet have sense to judge
    Of Vindication's distant throws:
    Sustained unto the crimson bud
    Caressed behind maternal shell.

    It bids yet of no use to say
    If God should give, If God should take,
    That by the way, now, blessed be
    The innocence of muted souls.

    It might recall the dreaded pangs.
    Unwillingly reached, the pounding heart:
    The forceful entry through the wall
    Where shame and love do now compress.

    It will not have the spoken voice
    To fight for unalienated right:
    What has choice now, the crimson bud,
    That clings between the mortal way?