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Page 4
Procla.
No, you'll love me still.
I will not fret you, you are grieved enough.
But you'll have his name forced upon you yet -
They say he's risen.
Pilate.
Pretty simpleton,
You look as awestruck, draw your breath as quick
As if you were no wiser than the geese.
That cackle in the back lanes of all towns.
Risen, my baby! I have heard this talk.
And do you think death but an actor's mask
To be thrown off and there's the man alive?
I would he could be risen. I should laugh
To see the Jews' scared faces. More than that
I should be thankful, sleep more easily;
And you'd smile all the sweeter. But the dead
Lie stark and helpless, then rot into earth,
And there's an end. That's the deep sadness, child,
Which all our hearts, outface it as we will,
Faint at and whimper at through all our thoughts,
That the dead are really dead and not asleep,
And so there is no rising. Nay indeed
If they should rise, what body could they wear?
Is there not loathsome mildewing decay
That eats the putrid flesh? My fond fair wife,
Let us take life as softly as we can
So hard a toil, and gild it with all joys,
And not nurse sorrow on it, as you'd do,
Because of evil chances; for so soon
As it is given us foul death begins
To nibble at it, and one day he gnaws
The heartstrings and we go back to the earth,
And there's nor joy nor sorrow nor fond hope,
For we are nothing.
Next |
A Woman Sold
Bartimaeus
Judas
Pilate
The Walk To Emmaus
A Bride
A March Night
A Messenger
A Mother's Cry
A Wedding
Afterwards
Dead Amy
Deserted
Dreaming
Glad Waves
Going
How The Brook Sings
If
In The Storm
In The Sunshine
Looking Downstairs
Mary Lost
Never Again
Night Whispers
On The Lake
On The Shore
Our Lily
Passing Away
Perjured
Safe
Shadow
Sunlight
The Blush Rose
The Gift
The Heiress' Wooer
The Hidden Wound
The Lake
The Land Of Happy Dreams
The Old Year Out
The Red Star On The Hill
The River
The Setting Star
The Shadow Of A Cloud
To And Fro
To One Of Many
Too faithful
Two Maidens |
