 | The Collected Poems of T. W. H. Crosland |  |
183
Materiel
Since wheels for the breaking of bone
And hooks for the tearing of flesh,
And pully and rack
And screws to crack
Sinew and joint are forgone;
Shall Torture fail of her own
And lose the admirèd moan
Of thrice-slain agony,
Or miss from her ancient mesh
The victim fair and fresh?
Nay, by the Rood, not she!
And hooks for the tearing of flesh,
And pully and rack
And screws to crack
Sinew and joint are forgone;
Shall Torture fail of her own
And lose the admirèd moan
Of thrice-slain agony,
Or miss from her ancient mesh
The victim fair and fresh?
Nay, by the Rood, not she!
Ablaze with glittering skill,
On floors of anguish, still
Plieth she pincer and bowl,
And she hath profuse prey;
And all night and all day,
Though bodies go safe and whole,
She thanks God for the soul.
On floors of anguish, still
Plieth she pincer and bowl,
And she hath profuse prey;
And all night and all day,
Though bodies go safe and whole,
She thanks God for the soul.
| The Collected Poems of T. W. H. Crosland | |