The Richmond palladium and sun-telegram. [volume] (Richmond, Ind.) 1907-1939, 1912-02-02
PRODUCTION BY RICHMOND WRITER
The Psychology of the Dstrought Brain, Pictured in
Poem Called THE Mad Woman Genius
Often Languishes in Obscurity.
~ ESTHER GRIFFIN WHITE.

~ ESTHER GRIFFIN WHITE.
The thing near at hand goes unob-
served.
The beauty at our door bushes all
unseen.
We rush with hands out-stretched
toward the dazzling stranger-only to
find that he was seeking the friend
within our gates whom we had forgot
ten.
We attach too much value to remote
ness. Z
That seen in perspective looms large
on our horizon.
The mirage of reputation obscures
the absence OF genuine substance.
Celebrity is AN accident.
Puncture the bubble and you find
mediocrity or worse.
In the old phrase "all that glitters
Is not gold"
Richmond. as we'll as other commu-
mites, often nurtures some unusual hui
man manifestation whose light burns
under the famous "bushel."
The following verses. in instance,
written by a resident of this city, are
SO remarkable in their psychology
and in it's presentation. that the
writer of this column reproduces them
for that reason as we'll as for their
literary value:
THE MAD WOMAN.
(MonoIosue)
To hor oil
TO check in fine lined squares the
day:
And soft feet s-pad-padding-
still,
And wild peals ring out far away.
Rafting laughter like clashed tin,
And ceaseless chatter--wOrds-ju
words:
But ! am quiet. Oh. that din
OF loud thoughts flight. like whirring
birds.
But am still do not shrek
And curse, and beg--l did at first
When those white fiends grinned in,
and weak
l fought with giants strength, and
cursed
And laughed--like those; those empty
peals
That fit from bars to bars around
This great walled house, faint mock
ing peals
That sweep the halls in mindless
sound.
They laughed at me. then trembled
back
Behind the walls when l rushed, mad
To tear them out; like on that rack
They tied my hands and strapped my
feet.
And brought me here where walls and
floor
Are one soft plane-then in defeat
held my rage, though wild words
roar
Through my head. big as this great
house;
And dizzy-dizzy-can l think?
I'll stamp about-yes-that will rouse
That old, sweet Thought l want to
think.
Twenty-twenty-tw years
I've lived here; oh that dreadful head,
Those great skull eyes--yes, with real
tears
The gentle little inturne said.
It's strange they love me-poor me,
these
White aprOned women who have seen
The hell l fear, the hell that flees
And leaves me calm; myself between
| Their racking torment. Here, sweet.
here,
Come here to mama, baby-please."
| How sweet she lOoked-my wee pure
dear
In the old bright, home scrap that
fees.
They say l killed her-God. they lie!
I? Would l hurt one golden hair?
Have twenty-twenty- passed by
Since l saw my white baby there?
White-how white her wee face seem
| ed
| Against the little satin roll:
> AS white and stainless as it cleaned
My little unsoiled baby's soul.
l must-I mustn't-that was it.
| l loved her SO she must not live;
I study now as here sit
Did do best her soul to give!'
Did I do-FlENDS-would have me
| think
| Z hnA 4
My one sweet cherub-oh! that brink
That old, old wound-"My child, my
child"
I slipped out once-a month"; year :;
How far apast was 1t crept
Out those barred doors in JOY and fear
And slipt away with catlike step:
1