This a short poem from a discarded book I salvaged at the twelve penny book sale. The author is unknown, and the poem was never named. To be exact, it appears to be the reason the book was discarded, as it was written on the front cover in pink marker.
What if hearts had windows, what if souls could sleep?
Would all that passed beneath the sea be purified, entombed within the deep?
When Joan lay bruised on prison cot, when Carton surveyed his guillotine,
did they fathom some better lot, did they think that pain would make their hearts pristine?
No, no darkness would enwrap those two, no silence from Sheol,
no shameful peace with worms for sheets, no huddled company of kings-
No. First shall stand the smallest ones, towering robed, honored, crowned;
Let the weakest come forward first; of all our trials theirs were worst,
Let those who hunger, faint, and thirst- their drink by far is a sweeter thing.
What if hearts had windows, what if souls could sleep?
Would all that passed beneath the sea be purified, entombed within the deep?
When Joan lay bruised on prison cot, when Carton surveyed his guillotine,
did they fathom some better lot, did they think that pain would make their hearts pristine?
No, no darkness would enwrap those two, no silence from Sheol,
no shameful peace with worms for sheets, no huddled company of kings-
No. First shall stand the smallest ones, towering robed, honored, crowned;
Let the weakest come forward first; of all our trials theirs were worst,
Let those who hunger, faint, and thirst- their drink by far is a sweeter thing.
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