THE BARREN WOMAN ( Benares ) At the burning-ghat, O Kali, Mother divine and dread, See, I am waiting with open lips Over the newly dead. I am childless and barren; pity And let me catch the soul Of him who here on the kindled bier Pays to Existence toll. See, by his guileless body I cook the bread and eat. Give me the soul he does not need Now, for conception sweet. Hear, or my lord and husband Shall send me from his door And take to his side a fairer bride Whose breast shall be less poor. Oft I have sought thy temples, By Ganges now I seek, Where ashes of all the dead are strewn, And is my prayer not meek? The ghats and the shrines and the people That bathe in the holy Stream Have heard my cry, O goddess high, Shall I not have my dream? The women of Oudh and Jaipur Look on my face with scorn. Children about their garments cling, To me shall none be born? The death-fires quiver faster, O hasten, goddess, a sign, That from this doom into my womb Thy pledge has passed, divine. Woe! there is naught but ashes, Now, and the weepers go. Lone on the ghat they leave me, lone, With but the River's flow. Kali, I ask not jewels Nor justice, beauty nor shrift, But for the lowest woman's right, A child--tho I die of the gift!