I lived with Pride; the house was hung
With tapestries of rich design
Of many houses, this among
Them all was richest, and 'twas mine.
But in the chambers burned no fire,
Though all the furniture was gold;
I sickened of fulfilled desire,
The House of Pride was very cold.
I lived with Knowledge; very high
Her house rose on a mountain's side.
I watched the stars roll through the sky,
I read the scroll of time of Time flung wide.
But in that house, austere and bare,
No children played, no laughter clear
Was heard, no voice of mirth was there,
The House was high but very drear.
I lived with Love; all she possessed
Was but a tent beside a stream.
She warmed my cold hands in her breast,
She wove around my sleep a dream.
And One there was with face divine
Who softly came, when day was spent,
And turned our water into wine
And made our life a sacrament.
William J. Dawson
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