 | Threescore, and other poems |  |
49
THE SMILE.
A SCENE IN THE AFTER LIFE.
'T was she! She sat upon a bank,
A babe within her arms!
But she is dead. And was 't the clank
Of conscience, guilt's alarms,
That made her seem to breathe new breath?
He too!—had he not writhed in death?
A babe within her arms!
But she is dead. And was 't the clank
Of conscience, guilt's alarms,
That made her seem to breathe new breath?
He too!—had he not writhed in death?
But now he was alive, and stalked
Before the grave-like mound:
A six feet span was all he walked,
Aye quickly wheeling round,
As though just there some demon raged,
And he invisibly were caged.
Before the grave-like mound:
A six feet span was all he walked,
Aye quickly wheeling round,
As though just there some demon raged,
And he invisibly were caged.
50
On her his gazes aye he bent;
He could not else than so:
All hers upon the child were spent,
As she no change could know.
And now and then she gently pressed
The babe more closely to her breast.
He could not else than so:
All hers upon the child were spent,
As she no change could know.
And now and then she gently pressed
The babe more closely to her breast.
The child stared with a thirsty look,
Its eyes would drink his being;
Then with a sudden dread it shook,
As blasted by their seeing.
Mother and child together clung,
The two by one pale terror wrung.
Its eyes would drink his being;
Then with a sudden dread it shook,
As blasted by their seeing.
Mother and child together clung,
The two by one pale terror wrung.
His eyes were balls of rayless fire,
They seethed his ghastly brain;
And through his pulse unquenched desire
Poured its dim hell of pain;
As there he paced, without a pause,
Moved by the mystic might of cause.
They seethed his ghastly brain;
And through his pulse unquenched desire
Poured its dim hell of pain;
51
Moved by the mystic might of cause.
He could nor rest nor look away,
He had no power of will;
All that he squandered on the day
He drank of murder's fill;
And near the two with light imbued,
He strode in a dark solitude.
He had no power of will;
All that he squandered on the day
He drank of murder's fill;
And near the two with light imbued,
He strode in a dark solitude.
He could not sigh, he could not weep,
His life so subject drear;
Forth from his tainted blood could leap
No easeful moan or tear.
Rang in his ears the awful cry—
There is no death! he could not die.
His life so subject drear;
Forth from his tainted blood could leap
No easeful moan or tear.
Rang in his ears the awful cry—
There is no death! he could not die.
And still the child it stared, with bland,
Inquiring look and wild;
Then suddenly put out its hand,
Then on him deeply smiled:
A groan did the long silence greet,
And he fell weeping at her feet.
Inquiring look and wild;
52
Then on him deeply smiled:
A groan did the long silence greet,
And he fell weeping at her feet.
| Threescore, and other poems | |