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POEMS BY ISAAC ROSENBERG<br />
SPIRITUAL ISOLATION : A<br />
FRAGMENT<br />
My Maker shunneth me :<br />
Even as a wretch stricken with leprosy,<br />
So hold I pestilent supremacy.<br />
Yea ! He hath Hed far as the uttermost star,<br />
Beyond the unperturbed fastnesses of night<br />
And dreams that bastioned are<br />
By fretted towers of sleep that scare His light.<br />
Of wisdom writ, whereto<br />
My burdened feet may haste withouten rue,<br />
I may not spell—and I am sore to do.<br />
Yea, all (seeing my Maker hath such dread),<br />
Even mine own self-love, wists not but to fly<br />
To Him, and sore besped<br />
Leaves me, its captain, in such mutiny.<br />
Will, deemed incorporate<br />
With me, hath flown ere love, to expiate<br />
Its sinful stay where He did habitate.<br />
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