VILLANELLE

O Providence, I will not praise,
Neither for fear nor joy of gain,
Your blundering and cruel ways.

This city where the dun fog stays,
These tired faces in the rain,
O Providence, I will not praise.

Here in the mud and wind that slays
In the cold streets, I scan again
Your blundering and cruel ways.

And all men's miserable days,
And all their ugliness and pain,
O Providence, I will not praise.

I will not join the hymns men raise
Like slaves who would avert, in vain,
Your blundering and cruel ways.

At least, in this distracted maze,
I love the truth and see it plain;
O Providence, I will not praise
Your blundering and cruel ways.