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The book of the dead | ||
20
[VII. If this cruel cup of love and hate]
If this cruel cup of love and hate
Shall pass to other lips than mine,
And mortals, of an older date,
Make mouths above my bitter wine;
Shall pass to other lips than mine,
And mortals, of an older date,
Make mouths above my bitter wine;
And cry, “Behold, he gives our thirst
A sponge of vinegar and gall!”
I answer, Bear my cross accurst,
And this fell draught shall not appall.
A sponge of vinegar and gall!”
I answer, Bear my cross accurst,
And this fell draught shall not appall.
Nay, rather merciful and mild,
To such a thirst, the draught will seem;
For one with raging famine wild
Drinks gladly at the foulest stream.
To such a thirst, the draught will seem;
For one with raging famine wild
Drinks gladly at the foulest stream.
O solemn line, arrayed in black,
That shades you to the inmost heart,
Who tread the wide funereal track
On which earth's fated mourners start!—
That shades you to the inmost heart,
Who tread the wide funereal track
On which earth's fated mourners start!—
21
The long procession, never done,
That wearies out the countless years,
Whose march is timed by sob and groan,
And watered with perpetual tears;—
That wearies out the countless years,
Whose march is timed by sob and groan,
And watered with perpetual tears;—
I know you by your shuddering sighs,
Your lips severe, your figures bent,
And thus, beneath your downcast eyes,
I spread my awful sacrament!
Your lips severe, your figures bent,
And thus, beneath your downcast eyes,
I spread my awful sacrament!
The book of the dead | ||