 | Leaves of life |  |
IV.
He is set free! And she is dead.
Mine were the hands her blood made red;
Mine were the eyes that saw her breast
Heave like a little child's at rest;
Mine was the touch that changed the deep
Soft breathing beauty of her sleep
Into a horror that will cry
Against me till the day I die!
She looked so fair, so sweet, so good,
I almost blessed her as I stood
Grasping the knife that was to end
Her life, save honour, free my friend.
O friend, it was for you, for you
I paid this hard deed's heavy due!
I struck—her eyes shone—and she cried
‘Traitor!’ I struck again—she died.
And we were in the room alone—
I, and the deed that I had done!
Mine were the hands her blood made red;
Mine were the eyes that saw her breast
Heave like a little child's at rest;
Mine was the touch that changed the deep
Soft breathing beauty of her sleep
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Against me till the day I die!
She looked so fair, so sweet, so good,
I almost blessed her as I stood
Grasping the knife that was to end
Her life, save honour, free my friend.
O friend, it was for you, for you
I paid this hard deed's heavy due!
I struck—her eyes shone—and she cried
‘Traitor!’ I struck again—she died.
And we were in the room alone—
I, and the deed that I had done!
I fled—but all along my flight
Through vastness of the empty night,
One face pursued me like the ghost
Of all that man has ever lost;
Not her face—dead and white and fair,
But his—when he should find her there!
Through vastness of the empty night,
One face pursued me like the ghost
Of all that man has ever lost;
Not her face—dead and white and fair,
But his—when he should find her there!
It will not hurt! Not long, not long!
Soon the vast press of world-wide wrong,
And the great glory of the deed
Wherein he only can succeed
(The leading of the people), will
Outface for him this dream of ill.
Pass quickly, certain storm of tears!
And leave clear light for other years,
Years whose fair fruits I shall not know.
I go to strike some sterner blow,
To lay some butcher-tyrant low,
And die right gladly, dying so.
Soon the vast press of world-wide wrong,
And the great glory of the deed
Wherein he only can succeed
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Outface for him this dream of ill.
Pass quickly, certain storm of tears!
And leave clear light for other years,
Years whose fair fruits I shall not know.
I go to strike some sterner blow,
To lay some butcher-tyrant low,
And die right gladly, dying so.
And when, through him, the day is won,
And men are free beneath the sun,
None shall remember them of me
Who gave my life that this might be.
In a dishonoured grave will I
Lie down—contented there to lie,
Dying most glorious and most glad.
This was the one chance that I had—
I took it; I have set him free
And played my part out worthily;
And yet—his face, his anguished eyes—
O brother, could I otherwise?
And men are free beneath the sun,
None shall remember them of me
Who gave my life that this might be.
In a dishonoured grave will I
Lie down—contented there to lie,
Dying most glorious and most glad.
This was the one chance that I had—
I took it; I have set him free
And played my part out worthily;
And yet—his face, his anguished eyes—
O brother, could I otherwise?
Who's this? A friend? The password? Right!
What? You have travelled all the night
To find me, and you say you bear
News from the city? I was there
But yesterday. How goes it? Say,—
Is there fresh news since yesterday?
His wife is dead? And he ... No, no—
By heaven, you shall not cheat me so
Of my life's wage! he is not dead—
He is not dead—but ill may be,
With drinking grief too greedily.
Soon that will pass—and he will do
The work she has released him to.
He is not dead.
What? You have travelled all the night
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News from the city? I was there
But yesterday. How goes it? Say,—
Is there fresh news since yesterday?
His wife is dead? And he ... No, no—
By heaven, you shall not cheat me so
Of my life's wage! he is not dead—
He is not dead—but ill may be,
With drinking grief too greedily.
Soon that will pass—and he will do
The work she has released him to.
He is not dead.
Then tell me why
Your face is wrenched with agony?
What is the worst? You loved him, too?
Speak—or I'll tear it out of you!
Your face is wrenched with agony?
What is the worst? You loved him, too?
Speak—or I'll tear it out of you!
No—no! A lie! You said that thing
To punish me for threatening!
It was not true, that thing you said—
That he went mad to see her dead!
It is true!
To punish me for threatening!
It was not true, that thing you said—
That he went mad to see her dead!
It is true!
Then, if God there be,
How he must laugh to think of me!
How he must laugh to think of me!
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