The Mother’s Tragedy

THE FATAL FORCE 45 Highest among the secret ones; and we— See where our heritage is made; I, king, A leper, and thyself, the hideous fruit Of what strange poisons? But in mine own self I am the king and chief of all the priests; And thou, in thine own eyes, art a young god, Strong, beautiful, and lithe, a leaping fawn Upon the mountains. PACHAD. Yea, I am a god. I am fire against the fountain of my birth, The storm upon the earth that nurtured me! Leave me: we twain have no more words to speak. THE LEPER. Neither in heaven nor in hell. I go, The dead king, worshipping the living man. [/xiz. PACHAD. I have been a god so long, my thoughts run halt From many contemplations. Like the flow Of a slow river deep and beautiful, My even life moved onward to full scope, The ocean of profounder deity, And—suddenly—the cataract! My soul, Centered eternally upon itself, Comprehends hardly all this violence Of wayward men intemperate. I am calm, And contemplate, without a muscle moved