Page:Poems Terry, 1861.djvu/107

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Nemesis.
103
   Inevitable fate!
   Still must thy phantoms wait
And mock my shadow like its fearful twin?
   Is there no final rest.
   In this doom-haunted breast?
Does thy terrific patience wait therein?

   "Aye! wander as thou wilt,
   The blood thy hand hath spilt.
Stamps on thy brow its black, eternal sign;
   Thyself thou canst not flee.
   Writhe in thine agony!
Suffer! despair! thou art condemned—and mine."