A Kind Of Scorn

You do not know my pride Or the storm of scorn I ride.

I am too proud to kiss you and leave you Without wonders Spreading round you like flame. I am too proud to leave you Without love Haunting your very name: Until you bear the Grail Above your head in splendor O child, dear and pale. I am too proud to leave you Though we part forevermore Till all your thoughts Go up toward Glory’s door.

Oh, I am but a sinner proud and poor, Utterly without merit To help you climb in wonder A stair toward Heaven’s door-- Except that I have prayed my God, And He will give the Grail, And you will mourn no longer, Beset, confused, and pale. And God will lift you far on high, The while I pray and pray Until the hour I die. The effectual fervent prayer availeth much. And my first prayer ascends this proud harsh day.