REMORSE
“Where have you been, my pale, pale son, all night in the winter storm?”
(Hark I the joy bells chime in their passionate rhyme.)
“O mother! the bird is sheltered, the beast housed warm—
And they, with their bodies' comfort, are thus content;
But I, in debt for a soul, have the long night spent
In shunning the question of God, till the spirit within
Fought mad through the human walls of my quivering skin
At its kindred passion without in the howling night.
‘Where is thy brother?’ O question not giving respite.
O mother! what do they answer, those lips, blood red,
Of Nature, in sport with her thousand deaths? I questioned.
‘Send me an answer.’ She spoke not, the Mother of Death,
Life rocked in her restless arms, while she sucked at her breath—
(‘Where?’ the bells cry, and I dare not reply.)”
“What would you tell me, my child, my child, that once slept a babe on my breast?”
(Do the death bells toll for a passing soul?)
“O mother I my friend is dead, now I stand confessed.
I can strike the stone into flame, make the dark give light,
But I cannot give back to the tiniest bird its flight.
181
