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Page 9
I'm sick at it, I'm weary like a man
Who carries crimes on him he dares not name
Even to his next and dearest lest they'd turn
And loathe him. Every creeping silent hour
Since I beheld him haled forth to the cross
Has dragged an age of thought with it, and what
I know not how to name except as dread.
And yet what do I dread? But more and more,
Like a poor baby shuddering in the dark
And peopling loneliness with awful shades,
I feel as if I could not be alone
Because I tremble. Somewhere there must be
A terror near, or why should I be scared?
There's all my reasoning. The baby cries,
And some one helps it, lights it safe to bed.
The man must hold his peace, or they'll say "mad"
And chain and lash him long before he's mad
With trying to make out his bugbear's shape.
Nay I'll not peer for mine. I could not bear
Poor Procla's fancies and I sent her hence,
To be in peace, but my own fancies are
Like monster shadows, hers thrown hideously
On lurid mists. What! can I never now
Trust myself with myself? Must there still come
This madman's mood upon me, as if guilt
Were more than man can bear who yet bears death
With pleasantness if any one be near
To give him honour for it?
Ah! they say
Through all his anguish he would still look down
With an ineffable strange pitying,
As if 'twas those below who died, not he;
They say through all he - nay, no more of this.
The crime sits hard enough on my wrung mind
Without these useless broodings to swell out
Its vampire bulk. I know too certainly
I shall be haunted with it all my days,
As if the Furies clung to me. But I
Refuse the guilt, I did not will the doom;
Let the Jews look to it, they took his death
On them and on their children.
But if aught
Could purify me I'd give this right hand
The water should have cleansed from that just blood,
To purchase that redemption.
Well, 'tis naught.
To weep past evil is a vainer thing
Than to shake drops of dew upon the fire.
I'll think no' more of it - were't possible
I'd never think again. There's much to do,
These letters should be sent to Rome at once.
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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 |
