Standing Alone

I STAND alone through each long day

Upon these pavers; cannot see

The wares spread out upon this tray

For God has taken sight from me!  

  

Many a time I've cursed the night

When I was born. My peering eyes

Have sought for but one ray of light

To pierce the darkness. When the skies

Rain down their first sweet April showers

On budding branches; when the morn

Is sweet with breath of spring and flowers,

I've cursed the night when I was born.

But now I thank God, and am glad

For what I cannot see this day

—The young men cripples, old, and sad,

With faces burnt and torn away;

Or those who, growing rich and old,

Have battened on the slaughter,

Whose faces, gorged with blood and gold,

Are creased in purple laughter!

The Blind Pedlar by Osbert Sitwell