Well, here it is: you call for me: I come,
But with an eagerness not quite my own;
Propelled by that decisive martyrdom
That pleased the saints upon their faggot throne.
You see them smiling in the cruel flame
That exquisitely licks their willing limbs,
And finding some sad pleasure in the game
Not quite embodied in their lusty hymns.
And so I come: and though I go, be sure
That I will come again to-morrow, too;
And, Love’s fanatic, hasten to endure
The littleness that is so great in you.
I am the weakling of that helpless strength
That throws this broken body you despise
Before your carelessness, to find at length
The faith that sleeps behind your faithless eyes.
_Babette Deutsch_
Babette Deutsch, one of the most promising of the younger
poet-critics, was born September 22, 1895, in New York City. She
received her B.A. at Barnard College in 1917, doing subsequent work
at the new School for Social Research. Since 1916, a year before she
took her degree, Miss Deutsch has been contributing poems and
critical articles to _The New Republic_, _The Dial_, _The Yale
Review_, etc.
_Banners_ (1919) is the title of her remarkable first book. The rich
emotional content is matched by the poet’s intellectual skill.
Unusually sensitive, most of these lines strive for—and attain—a
high seriousness.