 | Studies of Sensation and Event |  |
119
TO A CORPSE WATCHER.
Earth hath no home for thee! whither wouldst thou!
Fear'st thou the death-light damping its brow!
Would'st thou gnash thy wild wrath at the world's life-smile!
Or against the unknown blindly howl thy revile!
Turn thee! turn thee! sit by its bed;
With its hand in thy hand, learn the feel of the dead;
Think how she yesternight danced down thy hall,
Laughing out gentle light to each melody's call,
Glancing thee girlhood's love, when her fine foot did fall
In the arch feats of dance!
Fear'st thou the death-light damping its brow!
Would'st thou gnash thy wild wrath at the world's life-smile!
Or against the unknown blindly howl thy revile!
Turn thee! turn thee! sit by its bed;
With its hand in thy hand, learn the feel of the dead;
Think how she yesternight danced down thy hall,
Laughing out gentle light to each melody's call,
Glancing thee girlhood's love, when her fine foot did fall
In the arch feats of dance!
Earth hath no home for thee! sit by its bed;
And thy fury will sink, when thou feel'st it quite dead;
For the shadows thou sawest, that rose in its face,
When its mouth shuddered down into death's fixed grimace,—
The shadows that rose in its face, and therefrom
Came with a shudder,—more blackly shall come
From that same white face in steady succession,
And fill all the room with their soundless procession,
Till thine eye-balls shall start from their swift retrogression,
Darkening down from the roof.
And thy fury will sink, when thou feel'st it quite dead;
120
When its mouth shuddered down into death's fixed grimace,—
The shadows that rose in its face, and therefrom
Came with a shudder,—more blackly shall come
From that same white face in steady succession,
And fill all the room with their soundless procession,
Till thine eye-balls shall start from their swift retrogression,
Darkening down from the roof.
And the gloom of those shadows shall sink in thy brain,
Expelling all thought, and deadening all pain;
The tide in thy veins shall move heavy and slow,
And the beats of thine heart long-intervalled go;
To passionless torpor thy face shall wane,
And omnipotent sleep shall thy life unstrain;—
By the corpse thou shalt sleep,—by it thou shalt wake,
But no glorious rage shall thy nature then shake,
For low idiot tears will thy broken face slake,
The tears of self-sorrow.
Expelling all thought, and deadening all pain;
The tide in thy veins shall move heavy and slow,
And the beats of thine heart long-intervalled go;
To passionless torpor thy face shall wane,
And omnipotent sleep shall thy life unstrain;—
By the corpse thou shalt sleep,—by it thou shalt wake,
But no glorious rage shall thy nature then shake,
For low idiot tears will thy broken face slake,
The tears of self-sorrow.
121
Thou wilt weep; and when wept all thy greatness away,
Thou shalt start from the corpse, and its grave-clothes array,
And look with no love, but with horror, to its face,
And say that a cold smell doth steam round its place,
The cold smell of corruption;—thou'lt long for the day
Of the quick busy world, with its work, and its play;—
To that day then depart thou;—feel saved in its bloom,
Hug thyself with the thought,—distant far is thy tomb,—
Lose thyself in the gay crowds whose bright looks assume
All that's most unlike death.
Thou shalt start from the corpse, and its grave-clothes array,
And look with no love, but with horror, to its face,
And say that a cold smell doth steam round its place,
The cold smell of corruption;—thou'lt long for the day
Of the quick busy world, with its work, and its play;—
To that day then depart thou;—feel saved in its bloom,
Hug thyself with the thought,—distant far is thy tomb,—
Lose thyself in the gay crowds whose bright looks assume
All that's most unlike death.
But earth hath no home for thee!—far as thou strayest,
Thy heart shall still sneer at all love that thou sayest,
At all love that is said; for thou shalt believe, ever
Love to be a false friend, even Death's frown can sever;
And thus homeless, and hopeless of home, shalt thou mourn,
With bitter life-hate, and gnawing self-scorn,
The time when thou thoughtst that love could not fail so,
The time when such thought from thy damn'd heart did go,
That time when above thy slain love there did flow,
Thy tears of self-sorrow.
Thy heart shall still sneer at all love that thou sayest,
At all love that is said; for thou shalt believe, ever
Love to be a false friend, even Death's frown can sever;
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With bitter life-hate, and gnawing self-scorn,
The time when thou thoughtst that love could not fail so,
The time when such thought from thy damn'd heart did go,
That time when above thy slain love there did flow,
Thy tears of self-sorrow.
| Studies of Sensation and Event | |