The Mother’s Tragedy

THE MOTHER'S TRAGEDY 25 Thus in one hour from peace and happiness To such a fury that the very room Seems to my fancy to be tossed about, Rocking and whirling on some dizzy sea. There is a horrible feeling in the air. [She shudders. SPIRIT OF TRAGEDY. The keystone of this arch of misery Is set by the unfaltering hands Of Fate. How desperate the anarchy Wrought in one hour! The fickle sands Run through the glass, and all the light is gone. Abysses without name the mighty power Spans with spread fingers; on the horizon Blood stains the setting sun, The shattered sun; it shall not rise again ! No resurrection to the trampled flower, No hope to angels watching as in vain Love—lies—slain ! Madness and Terror and the deadly mood of Fortitude, A misbegotten brood Of all things shameful—O the desolate eyes Of the cold Christ enthroned! The weeping heaven Answers for angels: the oppressive skies See them dislink from bodily form and shape, Unloved and unforgiven, Unwept, unpenitent, unshriven! Their hell of horror knows no gate of any escape,