210 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
L’HEAUTONTIMOROUMENOS 
 
CALM as a headsman at the block 
 I smite thee, not for anger’s sake, 
Even as Moses smote the rock ;   
 And from thine eyelid I will make 
 
Flow forth the streams of suffering 
 To water my Sahara years, 
My swollen passions, maddening 
 Shall swim upon thy sea of tears, 
 
Like ships beyond the bar that bound, 
 And in my heart that they enlarge 
With hope thy dear sobs shall resound, 
 A drummer rattling out the “ Charge ! ” 
 
For am I not a discord-note 
 In God’s great anthem—thanks to thee 
Black Irony with greedy throat 
 That shaketh me, devoureth me 
 
Through my soft voice this harpy screams !   
 My blood, this viper-venom base !   
I, the black mirror by whose gleams 
 Megaera watches her own face.