62 
THE WORLD’S TRAGEDY. 
 
Upon me in the market would come by. 
He twitched his robe awry, 
And I beheld — ah !  what a fatal graft 
In that strange tree of youth !  What gnarled and knobbed 
Live tree throbbed, throbbed 
With formidable threat — why did I fear ?  
What mystery encloses me ?  
My God !  protect me !  See  
On the horizon what strange star awakes,  
Like a gross lion that shakes  
His tawny mane — and roars.  Am I the prey ?  
See !  like a tangle of black snakes  
An evil smoke obscures the firmament  
Belched from his throat !  Now I repent  
This mine adventure ;  I must creep, creep in — 
I fear the night — oh day — day — come, sweet day !  
Best was thy spur, the bloodied silver ache  
That stings me like a snake,  
The itch of blood, the shapeless thing that nestles  
Between my baby breasts,  
The lion lust that wrestles  
With mine own soul — I understand so little — 
Nay !  not the tiniest tittle !  
All that I know is this — the pangs consume