Devastation
O love, you have shorn me, and rifled my heart, You have torn down the shrine from the innermost part. And through it now rushes a grief, sadly-wild, That breaks as the plaint of a sorrowing child.
Georgia Douglas Johnson
O love, you have shorn me, and rifled my heart, You have torn down the shrine from the innermost part. And through it now rushes a grief, sadly-wild, That breaks as the plaint of a sorrowing child.
The speaker addresses love as if it were a person who has wrecked her. She says love has shorn her—stripped something essential away—and rifled through her heart, stealing or destroying what was there.
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