| William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. (1878–1962). Anthology of Massachusetts Poets. 1922. |
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| Hunger |
| | | Gamaliel Bradford (1863–1932) |
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| I’VE been a hopeless sinner, but I understand a saint, | |
| Their bend of weary knees and their contortions long and faint, | |
| And the endless pricks of conscience, like a hundred thousand pins, | |
| A real perpetual penance for imaginary sins. | |
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| I love to wander widely, but I understand a cell, | 5 |
| Where you tell and tell your beads because you’ve nothing else to tell, | |
| Where the crimson joy of flesh, with all its wild fantastic tricks, | |
| Is forgotten in the blinding glory of the crucifix. | |
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| I cannot speak for others, but my inmost soul is torn | |
| With a battle of desires making all my life forlorn. | 10 |
| There are moments when I would untread the paths that I have trod. | |
| I’m a haunter of the devil, but I hunger after God. | |
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