The World’s Tragedy

I22 THE WORLD’S TRAGEDY. Next, scythes laid to the root of every flower That asks but sunshine for its brief glad hour. Next, axes at the root of every tree That strains its top to immortality. Yea, o thou terrible magician, I see the black wings of suspicion Fanning each ear with tales of spite, Blasting each bud with bitter blight. I see the poisonous upas-tree, Its shade the ghastly trinity — Religion, law, morality — Sicken with its stifling breath Human loveliness to death. I myself the tool of priests, Tyrants, merchants, hags and beasts, Lawyers, doctors, artizans, Whores and theologians ! All my life misunderstood Built in slime and nursed with blood ! This my death divinely hallows Boot and rack, stake and gallows. Strong men crushed beneath my domes, Children tortured in my homes, Women tricked and raked and herded