Poems (Henley)/There's a regret
Appearance
VII
There's a regretSo grinding, so immitigably sad,Remorse thereby feels tolerant, even glad. . . .Do you not know it yet?
For deeds undoneRankle and snarl and hunger for their due,Till there seems naught so despicable as youIn all the grin o' the sun.
Like an old shoeThe sea spurns and the land abhors, you lieAbout the beach of Time, till by and byDeath, that derides you too—
Death, as he goesHis ragman's round, espies you, where you stray,With half-an-eye, and kicks you out of his way;And' then—and then, who knows
But the kind GraveTurns on you, and you feel the convict Worm,In that black bridewell working out his term,Hanker and grope and crave?
'Poor fool that might—That might, yet would not, dared not, let this be,Think of it, here and thus made over to meIn the implacable night!'
And writhing, fainAnd like a triumphing lover, he shall takeHis fill where no high memory lives to makeHis obscene victory vain.