TO MY FIRST-BORN 
95 
 
 
 
TO MY FIRST-BORN 
 
At last a father !  In Mathilde’s womb 
The poison quickens, and the tare-seeds shoot ; 
On my old upas-tree a bastard fruit 
Is grafted.  One more generation’s doom 
Fixes its fangs.  Crime’s flame, disease’s gloom, 
Are thy birth-dower.  Another prostitute 
Predestined, born man, damned to grow a brute ! 
Another travels tainted to the tomb ! 
 
My sin, my madness, in thy blood are set, 
A vile imperishable coronet, 
To hound thee into hell !  God spits at thee 
The curse thy parents earned.  Revenge be thine ! 
Kiss Lust, kill Truth, and worship at Sin’s shrine. 
And foul His face with dung—thy infamy !