I went before God, and he said,
" What fruit of the life I gave?"
" Father," I said, " It is dead,
And nothing grows on the grave."

Wroth was the Lord and stern:
" Hadst thou not to answer me?
Shall the fruitless root not burn,
And be wasted utterly?"

" Father," I said, " forgive!
For thou knowest what I have done;
That another's life might live
Mine turned to a barren stone."

But the Father of Life sent fire
And burned the root in the grave;
And the pain in my heart is dire
For the thing that I could not save.

For the thing it was laid on me
By the Lord of Life to bring;
Fruit of the ungrown tree
That died for no watering.

Another has gone to God,
And his fruit has pleased Him well;
For he sitteth high, while I — plod
The dry ways down towards hell.

Though thou knowest, thou knowest, Lord,
Whose tears made that fruit's root wet;
Yet thou drivest me forth with a sword,
And thy Guards by the Gate are set.

Thou wilt give me up to the fire,
And none shall deliver me;
For I followed my heart's desire,
And I labored not for thee:

I labored for him thou hast set
On thy right hand, high and fair;
Thou lovest him, Lord; and yet
'Twas my love won Him there.

But this is the thing that hath been,
Hath been since the world began, —
That love against self must sin,
And a woman die for a man.

And this is the thing that shall be,
Shall be till the whole world die,
Kismet : — My doom is on me!
Why murmur since I am I?