 | Poems |  |
TO-DAY.
O saddest prisoner, to death condemned,Going blindfold, with slow, reluctant feet,
Hands fettered and mute lips, thy doom to meet,
By flaming swords before, behind thee, hemmed,
Led by two Fates,—To-morrow, with her gemmed
Arms that flash mocking tokens of the sweet
Things thou hadst hoped; and Yesterday with cheat
Of withered roses which thou hast contemned,
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While we, mute, helpless, with prophetic black
Have wrapped ourselves, and in thy narrow track
Come, hand in hand, blindfolded, fettered all,
Waiting the hour when, in thy death's last thrall
Bidding us follow thee, thou shalt look back.
| Poems | |