 | Sonnets of the Wingless Hours |  |
59
THE SLEDGE.
Men throw their better instincts to their worse
Much as that Russian mother threw her young
Out of the sledge, to stop the wolves that sprung
Faster and faster than the maddened horse.
Much as that Russian mother threw her young
Out of the sledge, to stop the wolves that sprung
Faster and faster than the maddened horse.
With each new victim, taking fresher force,
The wild pursuit goes on with shriller tongue;
Another and another child is flung
In dizzy panic and without remorse;
The wild pursuit goes on with shriller tongue;
Another and another child is flung
In dizzy panic and without remorse;
The snow-clad firs fly past in endless line;
But faster bound the wolves, still eight or nine,
Nearer and nearer, brazen-eyed and shrill;
But faster bound the wolves, still eight or nine,
Nearer and nearer, brazen-eyed and shrill;
And when the furious courser stops at last,
Vaguely we look around for what we cast
Out of Life's sledge, as if we had it still.
Vaguely we look around for what we cast
Out of Life's sledge, as if we had it still.
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