The Infidel

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Title:     The Infidel
Author: Laurence Alma-Tadema [More Titles by Alma-Tadema]

My soul at times, outworn by length of woe,
A strange appeasement seeks in doubting thee,
And cries: My sacred mount's a thing as low
As any hillock; shallow rolls the sea
That should have quenched my deep unbounded thirst;
My star's a lamp that flickers earthly light;
Mere surf-worn glass my emerald; why burst,
O heart! for love of these?--Then, fullest night
Environs me, thou banished; stretching wide
My arms, I grope for refuge; all my pain
Cries babe-like for a breast whereon to hide,
And on to thine I fling myself again....
Thus fools, impatient of God's silence, cry:
There is no God!--and seek what they deny.

[The end]
Laurence Alma-Tadema's poem: Infidel

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