Laurella and other poems by John Todhunter |
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THE WASTE OF NATURE.
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 | Laurella and other poems |  |
145
THE WASTE OF NATURE.
“A fine woman! A fair woman! A sweet woman!—The pity of it,
Iago!—O, Iago, the pity of it, Iago!”
The wild wind dolefully
Howls o'er the wintry plain,
And shrieks o'er the desolate sea,
Like a soul in pain.
The old house shudders and groans,
As the torrents of sleety rain
Bluster and moan in the chimney
And rattle the drenchéd pane.
Howls o'er the wintry plain,
And shrieks o'er the desolate sea,
Like a soul in pain.
The old house shudders and groans,
As the torrents of sleety rain
Bluster and moan in the chimney
And rattle the drenchéd pane.
I sit by a dying fire,
Watching the embers red;
And the midnight is ghostly around me,
And the house abed.
And as gust after gust shrieks seaward,
Far off on the waves to die,
I seem to hear in the pauses drear,
The time throb audibly by.
Watching the embers red;
And the midnight is ghostly around me,
And the house abed.
And as gust after gust shrieks seaward,
Far off on the waves to die,
I seem to hear in the pauses drear,
The time throb audibly by.
146
Why dost thou ache, poor heart?
Eyes, why will ye not close?
Must these burning lids gape ever apart,
Though I crave repose?
I feel the wings of the ages
Sweep over me in their course,
And the wheels of the universe crush me
With irresistible force.
Eyes, why will ye not close?
Must these burning lids gape ever apart,
Though I crave repose?
I feel the wings of the ages
Sweep over me in their course,
And the wheels of the universe crush me
With irresistible force.
Is this Thy work, God of Mercy?
Thy world a yawning abyss!
Didst Thou make man in Thine image—
Make woman—for this?
That each should be bait for the other,
As devils haul us ashore,
Twice-tempted to double damnation?
Or why did we learn this fiend-lore?
Thy world a yawning abyss!
Didst Thou make man in Thine image—
Make woman—for this?
That each should be bait for the other,
As devils haul us ashore,
Twice-tempted to double damnation?
Or why did we learn this fiend-lore?
O dreadful world, where one foolish fault—
One paltry mistake—
Will make such mischief as God Himself
Can never unmake!
Must a woman be lost forever
Because she is blithe and fair?
My curse upon love and beauty!
My curse on the gifts that snare!
One paltry mistake—
Will make such mischief as God Himself
Can never unmake!
Must a woman be lost forever
Because she is blithe and fair?
My curse upon love and beauty!
My curse on the gifts that snare!
147
What needs the curse? It has fallen—
Naught else has power to damn
To a deeper depth such a blasted
Lost wretch as I am.
Yes:—for this my thanks to the devil—
One deeper plunge I can try:
Tempt others down to perdition,
And curse my Maker, and die.
Naught else has power to damn
To a deeper depth such a blasted
Lost wretch as I am.
Yes:—for this my thanks to the devil—
One deeper plunge I can try:
Tempt others down to perdition,
And curse my Maker, and die.
| Laurella and other poems | |