 | Voices and visions |  |
119
THE PAWNBROKER
In some grim purlieu doth he dwell, that seems
Always through tricks of sorcery midnight's lair;
Above his door, in lamplight's dubious beams,
Darts out one shadowy word that reads ‘Despair.’
Always through tricks of sorcery midnight's lair;
Above his door, in lamplight's dubious beams,
Darts out one shadowy word that reads ‘Despair.’
With marble face, with quick insidious hand
Whose fingers glide like pale snakes to and fro,
Behind his dark-barred grating doth he stand,
To meet the timorous forms that come and go.
Whose fingers glide like pale snakes to and fro,
Behind his dark-barred grating doth he stand,
To meet the timorous forms that come and go.
Each with some treasured offering that allures
His look, and wins from it satanic glee,
These vague and variant forms are mine, are yours,
Yes, even are thousands' wild and weak as we!
His look, and wins from it satanic glee,
These vague and variant forms are mine, are yours,
Yes, even are thousands' wild and weak as we!
Love, pride, hope, honour, fame, year after year
We pawn him, by infatuate ardours urged,
Then grasp the coin he doles, and disappear
Back to the swallowing gloom whence we emerged.
We pawn him, by infatuate ardours urged,
Then grasp the coin he doles, and disappear
Back to the swallowing gloom whence we emerged.
But oft, with pay close-clutched, while hurrying o'er
His threshold, bent on our fleet homeward course,
We cast one farewell glance at his dim door,
And in the flickering lamplight read ‘Remorse.’
His threshold, bent on our fleet homeward course,
We cast one farewell glance at his dim door,
And in the flickering lamplight read ‘Remorse.’
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