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Page 1 of 11910 · PDF PAGE 7
…l understanding, that it bleeds again As a corpse should bleed at the murderer’s touch ! Then, not content, she must needs smutch All my past purifying pain, Turning all life to a thing fouler than Aught yet imaginable to man ! Who asks me for my tears ? She flings the body of my sweet dead child Into my face with hell’s own epitaph, Profanes that shrine Of infinite love and infinite loss, My empty shrine, the one shrine undefiled, My one close-claspèd cross— And hers as much as mine ! Profanes it with a hideous laugh And a lie flung with a cur…
1910 · PDF PAGE 4
…e rose-red hours. No fragrance of those days amid the flowers Lingers ; all’s drowned in the accursed stench Of this damned present. The past years abort And this is found. Foul waters drench My earth. All’s filth. With what cold eye one scans This body that was—so long since—two years ! I wrench
1910 · PDF PAGE 11
…it knows by intellect To be the right word—pity ! Then reflect : “ Pitiful ! Pitiful ! most pitiful ! The pity of it ! Think of the love past, Blossoms too beautiful ! Think of the hardships conquered comrade-wise ! Think of the babe and its most piteous end ! ” —All these things sound like lies. I do not comprehend Anything of them—“ Pity ! pity ! pity ! ” ’Tis like the dripping of some stagnant rain From the housetops of a ruined city Upon the flagstones. Not one petal clings Upon the stalk of life or memory. Stain Not one pale thought with b…