The Girl Who Came Between [poem by Grant Hervey]

[Editor: This poem by Grant Hervey was published in Australians Yet and Other Verses, 1913.]

The Girl Who Came Between

I hate her with a blood-red, endless hate —
My curse pursues her o’er the stretching years ;
Were I the lord of Heaven’s Jasper Gate,
I’d hurl her down among the shattered spheres !
I’d thrust her back into the Pit of Space,
For all her breast of snow and hair’s golden sheen ;
Harsh-eyed, I’d spurn her lovely, shining face,
And mock her prayers and all her witching grace.

Her grey despair would touch no tender chord
Within my grim and hard, vindictive heart ;
Came she to Hell, and I were Tophet’s lord,
No gate would ope for her — no doors would part !
“Go back and rot amid the ash of stars,”
I’d cry to her, with unrelenting mien ;
I’d drive her back from Hell’s own savage bars,
To grope through space with pains and wounds and scars.

What is the secret of my bitter hate ? —
A hate that lives for all Eternity ;
Why may I not forgive ? I had a Mate
Long years ago this siren stole from me !
There were no other Mates on earth like him —
No other man like him had ever been.
’Gainst her my wrath I treasure, fierce and grim,
Because she made my life all lone and dim.

We wandered forth through all the world, we two
We toiled on many seas and in far lands ;
The mountain crest and gleaming axe we knew —
We ventured side by side through desert sands.
He nursed me when the mangrove’s sickly breath
Left me all helpless, weak and grey and lean ;
We swore to stand together unto death,
Until she came, with Love’s damned shibboleth.

O Viking-faced companion, brave and stern —
O thief with shining eyes and passion’s mouth ;
She took my Mate, and now no planets burn —
The world’s a dreary waste from north to south !
Hate her ? When through the lonely years I tread —
Aye, her, who caught him in Love’s cursèd skein ;
Hate her ? who tore the stars from overhead —
Aye, hate and curse her when she’s stark and dead.

I hate all women — star-eyed thieves, they come
To steal our mates and leave us desolate ;
To leave men lonely, silent, sad and numb,
Until their hearts fill up with savage hate.
I hate Her most, because with lips and eyes
She made Him hail her his eternal queen ;
Because she came in passion’s fair disguise
To capture him with looks and tender lies.

I hate her with a blood-red, endless hate —
My curse pursues her o’er the stretching years ;
Were I the lord of Heaven’s Jasper Gate,
I’d hurl her down among the shattered spheres !
I’d thrust her back — forth from this dwelling-place,
For all her breast of snow and hair’s gold sheen ;
Harsh-eyed, I’d spurn her lovely shining face —
Aye, fling her backward into ghastly Space!



Source:
Grant Hervey. Australians Yet and Other Verses, Thomas C. Lothian, Melbourne, 1913, pages 211-213

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